HALLIE 
ERMINIE 
RIVES 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

"Ma"  Crand«ll 


ft 


THE  KINGDOM   OF 
SLENDER  SWORDS 


BY  HALLIE  ERMINIE  RIVES 

(Mits.  POST  WHEELER) 


SATAN  SANDERSON 
Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Wenzell 

TALES  FROM  DICKENS 
Illustrated  by  Reginald  B.  Birch 

THE  CASTAWAY 
Illustrated  by     Howard  Chandler  Christy 

HEARTS  COURAGEOUS 
Illustrated  by  A.  B.  Wenzell 

A  FURNACE  OF  EARTH 


THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
INDIANAPOLIS 


THE  KINGDOM  OF 
SLENDER  SWORDS 


BY 

HALLIE  ERMINIE  RIVES 

(Mus.  POST  WHBRLBR) 


With  a  Foreword  by  His  Excellency  Baron  Makino 


ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 

A.  B.  WENZELL 


•0 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


COPYRIGHT  1910 
THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 


PRESS  OF 

BRAUNWORTH  &  CO. 

BOOKBINDERS  AND  PRINTERS 

BROOKLYN,  N.  Y. 


TO 
CAROLYN  FOSTER  STICKNEY 


FOREWORD 

It  has  been  my  happy  fortune  to  have  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  gifted  author  of  this  book.  From 
tune  to  time  she  was  kind  enough  to  confide  to  me 
its  progress.  When  the  manuscript  was  completed 
I  was  privileged  to  go  over  it,  and  the  hours  so  spent 
were  of  unbroken  interest  and  pleasure. 

What  especially  touched  and  concerned  me  was,  of 
course,  the  Japanese  characters  depicted,  the  motives 
of  these  actors  in  their  respective  roles,  and  other 
Japanese  incidents  connected  with  the  story.  I  am 
most  agreeably  impressed  with  the  remarkable  in- 
sight into,  and  the  just  appreciation  of,  the  Japanese 
spirit  displayed  by  the  author. 

While  the  story  itself  is  her  creation,  the  local  col- 
oring, the  moral  atmosphere  called  in  to  weave  the 
thread  of  the  tale,  are  matters  belonging  to  the  do- 
main of  facts,  and  constitute  an  amount  of  useful  and 
authentic  information.  Indeed,  she  has  taken  un- 
usual pains  to  be  correctly  informed  about  the  people 
of  the  country  and  their  customs,  and  in  this  she  has 
succeeded  to  a  very  eminent  degree. 

I  may  mention  one  or  two  of  the  striking  charac- 
teristics of  the  work.  The  sacrifice  of  the  girl  Haru 


may  seem  unreal,  but  such  is  the  dominant  idea  of 
duty  and  sacrifice  with  the  Japanese,  that  in  certain 
emergencies  it  is  not  at  all  unlikely  that  we  should 
behold  her  real  prototype  in  life.  The  description  of 
the  Imperial  Review  at  Tokyo  and  its  patriotic  sig- 
nificance vividly  recalls  my  own  impression  of  this 
spectacle. 

It  gives  me  great  satisfaction  to  know  that  by  pe- 
rusing these  pages,  the  vast  reading  public,  who, 
after  all,  have  the  decisive  voice  in  the  national  gov- 
ernment of  the  greatest  republic  of  the  world,  and 
whose  good  will  and  friendship  we  Japanese  prize  in 
no  uncommon  degree,  should  be  correctly  informed 
about  ourselves,  as  far  as  the  scope  of  this  book  goes. 
We  attach  great  importance  to  a  thorough  mutual 
understanding  of  two  foremost  peoples  on  the  Pacific, 
in  whose  direction  and  cooperation  the  future  of  the 
East  must  largely  depend.  It  is,  therefore,  incumbent 
upon  us  all  to  do  our  utmost  to  cultivate  such  good 
understanding,  not  only  for  those  immediately  con- 
cerned, but  for  the  welfare  of  the  whole  human  race. 

In  the  chapters  of  this  novel  the  author  seems  al- 
ways to  have  had  such  high  ideals  before  her,  and  the 
result  is  that,  besides  being  an  exciting  and  agreeable 
reading,  the  book  contains  elements  of  serious  and 
instructive  consideration,  which  can  not  but  contrib- 
ute toward  establishing  better  and  healthier  know- 
ledge between  the  East  and  West  of  the  Pacific. 

N.  MAKING. 

Sendagaya,  Tokyo,  9th  of  August,  1909. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I  WHERE  THE  DAY  BEGINS  i 

II  "THE  ROOST"    .          .           .  .  .13 

III  THE  LAND  OF  THE  GODS         .  .  .27 

IV  UNDER  THE  RED  SUNSET        .  .  .42 
V  THE  MAKER  OF  BUDDHAS       .  .  .52 

VI  THE  BAYING  OF  THE  WOLF-HOUND  .  .      62 

VII  DOCTOR  BERSONIN       .          .  .  .72 

VIII  "SALLY  IN  OUR  ALLEY"         .  .  .78 

IX  THE  WEB  OF  THE  SPIDER       .  .  .86 

X  IN  A  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS       •  .  .92 

XI  ISHIKICHI            ,          .          .  .  .101 

XII  IN  THE  STREET-OF-PRAYER-TO-THE-GODS  .    107 

XIII  THE  WHORLS  OF  YELLOW  DUST  .  .    113 

XIV  WHEN  BARBARA  AWOKE         .  .  .119 
XV  A  FACE  IN  THE  CROWD            .  .  .125 

XVI  "BANZAI  NIPPON"         .          .  .  .133 

XVII  A  SILENT  UNDERSTANDING    .  .  .142 

XVIII  IN  THE  BAMBOO  LANE             .  .  .    149 

XIX  THE  BISHOP  ASKS  A  QUESTION  .  .    154 

XX  THE  TRESPASSER         .          .  .  .160 

XXI  THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  DEAD  .  .    169 

XXII  THE  DANCE  OF  THE  CAPITAL  .  .    181 

XXIII  THE  DEVIL  PIPES  TO  His  OWN  .  .    194 

XXIV  A  MAN  NAMED  WARE             .  .  .198 
XXV  AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  Fox-Goo  .  .    206 

XXVI  THE  NIGHTLESS  CITY  .          .  .  .213 

XXVII  LIKE  THE  WHISPER  OF  A  BAT'S  WINGS  .    224 


CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXVIII  THE  FORGOTTEN  MAN             .  .  .    233 

XXIX  DAUNT  LISTENS  TO  A  SONG     .  .  .    244 

XXX  THE  ISLAND  OF  ENCHANTMENT  .  .    252 

XXXI  THE  COMING  OF  AUSTEN  WARE  .  .    266 

XXXII  THE  WOMAN  OF  SOREK           .  .  .276 

XXXIII  THE  FLIGHT       .          .          .  .  .284 

XXXIV  ON  THE  KNEES  OF  DELILAH  .  .  .288 
XXXV  WHEN  A  WOMAN  DREAMS      .  .  .    292 

XXXVI  BEHIND  THE  SHIKIRI    ....    297 

XXXVII  Y^  [» 303 

XXXVIII  THE  LADY  OF  THE  MANY-COLORED  FIRES      308 

XXXIX  THE  HEART  OF  BARBARA        .  .  .    320 

XL  THE  SHADOW  OF  A  TO-MORROW  .  .    326 

XLI  UNFORGOT          .          .          .  .  .334 

XLII  PHIL  MAKES  AN  APPEAL         .  .  .    338 

XLIII  THE  SECRET  THE  RIVER  KEPT  .  .    345 

XLIV  THE  LAYING  OF  THE  MINE      .  .  .    353 

XLV  THE  BISHOP  ANSWERS  A  SUMMONS  .  .    360 

XLVI  THE  GOLDEN  CRUCIFIX          .  .  .366 

XLVII  " IF  THIS  BE  FORGETTING"    .  .  .371 

XLVIII  WHILE  THE  CITY  SLEPT         .  .  .    379 

XLIX  THE  ALARM        .           .           .  .  .389 

L  WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY    .  .  .    396 

LI  THE  LAUGH        .          .          .  .  .401 

LII  THE  VOICE  IN  THE  DARK       .  .  .409 

LIII  A  RACE  WITH  DAWN    .           .  .  .414 

LIV  INTO  THE  SUNLIGHT      .          .  .  .425 

LV  KNOW  ALL  MEN  BY  THESE  PRESENTS  .    428 


THE  KINGDOM   OF 
SLENDER  SWORDS 


THE  KINGDOM 
OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

CHAPTER  I 

WHERE   THE  DAY   BEGINS 

BARBARA  leaned  against  the  palpitant  rail, 
the  light  air  fanning  her  breeze-cool  cheek, 
her  arteries  beating  like  tiny  drums,  atune 
with  the  throb,  throb,  throb,  of  the  steel  deck  as  the 
black  ocean  leviathan  swept  on  toward  its  harbor 
resting-place. 

All  that  Japanese  April  day  she  had  been  in  a 
state  of  tremulous  excitement.  She  had  crept  from 
her  berth  at  dawn  to  see  the  hazy  sun  come  up  in  a 
Rosicrusian  flush  as  weirdly  soft  as  a  mirage,  to 
strain  her  eyes  for  the  first  filmy  feather  of  land. 
Long  before  the  gray-green  wisp  showed  on  the  hori- 
zon, the  sight  of  a  lumbering  junk  with  its  square 
sail  laced  across  with  white  stripes,  and  its  bronze 
seamen,  with  white  loin-cloth  and  sweat-band  about 
the  forehead,  naked  and  thewed  like  sculptures,  as 
they  swayed  from  the  clumsy  tiller,  had  sent  a  thrill 
through  her.  And  as  the  first  far  peaks  etched 
themselves  on  the  robin's-egg  blue,  as  impalpable 

i 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

and  ethereal  as  a  perfume,  she  felt  warm  drops  com- 
ing with  a  rush  to  her  eyes. 

For  Japan,  every  sight  and  sound  of  it,  had  been 
woven  with  the  earliest  imaginings  of  Barbara's 
orphaned  life.  Her  father  she  had  never  seen.  Her 
mother  she  remembered  only  as  a  vague,  widowed 
figure.  In  Japan  they  two  had  met  and  had  married, 
and  after  a  single  year  her  mother  had  returned  to 
her  own  place  and  people  broken-hearted  and  alone. 
In  the  month  of  her  return  Barbara  had  been  born. 
A  year  ago  her  aunt,  to  whom  she  owed  the  care  of 
her  young  girlhood,  had  died,  and  Barbara  had 
found  herself,  at  twenty-three,  mistress  of  a  liberal 
fortune  and  of  her  own  future.  Japan  had  always 
exercised  a  potent  spell  over  her  imagination.  She 
pictured  it  as  a  land  of  strange  glowing  trees,  of 
queer  costumes  and  weird,  fantastic  buildings.  More 
than  all,  it  was  the  land  of  her  mother's  life- 
romance,  where  her  father  had  loved  and  died. 
There  was  one  other  tangible  tie — her  uncle,  her 
mother's  brother,  was  Episcopal  bishop  of  Tokyo. 
He  was  returning  now  from  a  half  year's  visit 
in  America,  and  this  fact,  coupled  with  an  invita- 
tion from  Patricia  Dandridge,  the  daughter  of  the 
American  Ambassador,  with  whom  Barbara  had 
chummed  one  California  winter,  had  constituted 
an  opportunity  wholly  alluring.  So  she  found  her- 
self, on  this  April  day,  the  pallid  Pacific  fuming 
away  behind  her,  gazing  with  kindling  cheeks  on 

2 


WHERE  THE  DAY  BEGINS 

that  shadowy  background,  vaguely  intangible  in  the 
magical  limpidity  of  the  distance. 

The  land  was  wonderfully  nearer  now.  The  hills 
lay,  a  clear  pile  of  washed  grays  and  greens,  with 
saffron  tinted  valleys  between,  wound  in  a  haze  of 
tender  lilac.  By  imperceptible  gradations  this  un- 
folded, caught  sub-tones,  ermine  against  umbers,  of 
warmer  red  and  flickering  emerald,  white  glints  of 
sun  on  surf  like  splashes  of  silver,  till  suddenly,  spec- 
tral and  perfect,  above  a  cluster  of  peaks  like  purple 
gentians,  glowed  forth  a  phantom  mountain,  its 
golden  wistaria  cone  inlaid  in  the  deeper  azure.  It 
hung  like  an  inverted  morning-glory,  mist  and 
mother-of-pearl  at  the  top,  shading  into  porphyry 
veined  with  streaks  of  verd  and  jade — Fuji-San,  the 
despair  of  painters,  the  birthplace  of  the  ancient 
gods. 

The  aching  beauty  of  it  stung  Barbara  with  a 
tender,  intolerable  pang.  The  little  fishing-villages 
that  presently  came  into  sight,  tucked  into  the  clefts 
of  the  shore,  with  gray  dwellings,  elfishly  frail, 
climbing  the  green  slope  behind  them — the  growing 
rice  in  patches  of  cloudy  gold  on  the  hillsides — the 
bluish  shadows  of  bamboo  groves — all  touched  her 
with  an  incommunicable  delight. 

A  shadow  fell  beside  her  and  she  turned.  It  was 
her  uncle.  His  clean-shaven  face  beamed  at  her  over 
his  clerical  collar. 

"Isn't  it  glorious?"   she  breathed.     "It's   better 

3 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

than  champagne!  It's  like  pins  and  needles  in  the 
tips  of  your  fingers!  There's  positively  an  odor  in 
the  air  like  camelias.  And  did  any  one  ever  see  such 
colors?"  She  pointed  to  the  shore  dead-ahead,  now 
a  serrated  background  of  deep  tones,  swimming  in 
the  infinite  gold  of  the  tropic  afternoon. 

Bishop  Randolph  was  a  bachelor,  past  middle  age, 
ruddy  and  with  eyes  softened  by  habitual  good- 
humor.  He  was  the  son  of  a  rector  of  a  rich  Vir- 
ginian parish,  which  on  his  father's  death  had  sent 
the  son  a  unanimous  call.  He  had  answered,  "No; 
my  place  is  in  Japan,"  without  consciousness  of  sac- 
rifice. For  him,  in  the  truest  sense,  the  present 
voyage  was  a  homeward  one. 

"Japan  gets  into  the  blood,"  he  said  musingly.  "I 
often  think  of  the  old  lady  who  committed  suicide 
at  Nikko.  She  left  a  letter  which  said:  'By  favor 
of  the  gods,  I  am  too  dishonorably  old  to  hope  to 
revisit  this  jewel-glorious  spot,  so  I  prefer  augustly 
to  remain  here  for  ever !'  I  have  had  something  of 
the  same  feeling,  sometimes.  I  remember  yet  the 
first  time  I  saw  the  coast.  That  was  twenty-five 
years  ago.  We  watched  it  together — your  father 
and  I — just  as  we  two  are  doing  now." 

She  looked  at  him  with  sudden  eagerness,  for  of 
his  own  accord  he  had  never  before  spoken  to  her 
of  her  dead  father.  The  latter  had  always  seemed  a 
very  real  personage,  but  how  little  she  knew  about 
him!  The  aunt  who  had  brought  her  up — her 

4 


.WHERE  THE  DAY  BEGINS 

mother's  sister — had  never  talked  of  him,  and  her 
uncle  she  had  seen  but  twice  since  she  had  been  old 
enough  to  wonder.  But,  little  by  little,  gleaning  a 
fact  here  and  there,  she  had  constructed  a  slender 
history  of  him.  It  told  of  mingled  blood,  a  birth- 
place on  a  Mediterranean  island  and  a  gipsy  child- 
hood. There  was  a  thin  sheaf  of  yellowed  manu- 
script in  her  possession  that  had  been  left  among  her 
mother's  scanty  papers,  a  fragment  of  an  old  diary 
of  his.  Many  leaves  had  been  ruthlessly  cut  from  it, 
but  in  the  pages  that  were  left  she  had  found  bits 
of  flotsam :  broken  memory-pictures  of  his  own 
mother  which  had  strangely  tpuched  her,  of  a  bitter 
youth  in  England  and  America  overshadowed  by 
the  haunting  fear  of  blindness,  of  quests  to  West- 
Indian  cities,  told  in  phrases  that  dripped  liquid 
gold  and  sunshine.  The  voyage  to  Japan  had 
been  made  on  the  same  vessel  that  carried  her 
uncle,  and  they  two  had  thus  become  comrades.  The 
latter  had  been  an  enthusiastic  young  missionary. 
one  of  a  few  chosen  spirits  sent  to  defend  a  far  field- 
casement  thrown  forward  by  the  batteries  of  Christ- 
endom. His  sister  had  come  out  to  visit  him  and  a 
few  months  later  had  married  his  friend. 

Such  was  the  story,  as  Barbara  knew  it,  of  her 
father  and  mother — a  love  chapter  which  had  soon 
closed  with  a  far-away  grave  by  the  Inland  Sea. 
Her  fancy  had  made  of  her  father  a  pathetic  figure. 
As  a  child,  she  had  dreamed  of  some  day  placing  a 

5 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

monument  to  his  memory  in  the  Japanese  capital. 
She  possessed  only  one  picture  of  him,  a  tiny  profile 
photograph  which  she  wore  always  in  a  locket  en- 
graved with  her  name.  It  showed  a  dark  face,  clean- 
shaven, finely  chiseled  and  passionate,  with  the 
large,  full  eye  of  the  dreamer.  She  had  liked  to 
think  it  looked  like  the  paintings  of  St.  John.  Per- 
haps this  thought  had  caused  the  projected  monu- 
ment to  take  the  form  of  a  Christian  chapel.  From 
a  nebulous  idea,  the  plan  had  become  a  bundle 
of  blue-prints,  which  she  had  sent  to  her  uncle, 
with  the  request  that  he  purchase  for  her  a  suitable 
site  and  begin  the  building.  He  had  done  this  before 
his  visit  to  America  and  now  the  Chapel  was  com- 
pleted, save  in  one  particular — the  memorial  win- 
dow of  rich,  stained-glass  stowed  at  that  moment  in 
the  ship's  hold.  The  bishop  had  not  seen  it.  From 
some  feeling  which  she  had  not  tried  to  analyze, 
Barbara  had  said  nothing  to  him  of  the  Chapel's  es- 
pecial significance.  .Now,  however,  at  his  unex- 
pected reference,  the  feeling  frayed,  and  she  told 
him  all  of  her  plan. 

He  gazed  at  her  a  moment  in  a  startled  fashion, 
then  looked  away,  his  hand  shading  his  eyes.  When 
she  finished  there  was  a  long  pause  which  made  her 
wonder.  She  touched  his  arm. 

"You  were  very  fond  of  father,  weren't  you  ?'' 
"Yes,"  he  said,  in  a  tone  oddly  restrained. 
6 


WHERE  THE  DAY  BEGINS 

"And  was  my  mother  with  you  when  he  fell  in 
love  with  her?" 

"Yes,"  and  after  a  pause:   "I  married  them." 

"Then  they  went  to  Nagasaki,"  she  said  softly, 
"and  there — he  died.  You  weren't  there  then?" 

"No,"  he  answered  in  a  low  voice.  His  face  was 
still  turned  away,  and  she  caught  an  unaccustomed 
note  of  feeling  in  his  voice. 

He  left  her  abruptly  and  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  the  deck,  while  she  stood  watching  the  shore- 
line sharpen,  the  tangled  blur  of  harbor  resolve 
and  shift  into  manifold  detail.  Shapeless  dots  had 
become  anchored  ships,  a  black  pencil  a  wharf,  a 
long  yellow-gray  streak  a  curved  shore-front  lined 
with  buildings,  and  the  warm  green  blotch  rising 
behind  it  a  foliaged  hill  pricked  out  with  soft,  gray 
roofs.  There  was  a  rush  of  passengers  to  one  side, 
where  from  a  brisk  little  tug,  at  whose  peak  floated 
a  flag  bearing  a  blood-red  sun,  a  handful  of  spick- 
and-span  Japanese  officials  were  climbing  the  ship's 
ladder. 

At  length  the  bishop  spoke  again  at  her  elbow, 
now  in  his  usual  voice:  "What  are  you  going  to 
do  with  that  man,  Barbara  ?" 

A  faint  flush  rose  in  her  cheek.  "With  what 
man?" 

"Austen  Ware." 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  laughed — a  little 
7 


THE  KINGDOM  OE  SLENDER  SWORDS 

uneasily.  "What  can  one  do  with  a  man  when  he  is 
ten  thousand  miles  away?" 

"He's  not  the  sort  to  give  up  a  chase." 

"Even  a  wild-goose  chase?"  she  countered. 

"When  I  was  a  boy  in  Virginia,"  he  said  with  a 
humorous  eye,  "I  used  to  chase  wild  geese,  and  bag 
'em,  too." 

The  bishop  sauntered  away,  leaving  a  frown  on 
Barbara's  brow.  She  had  had  a  swift  mental  vision 
of  a  cool,  dark-bearded  face  and  assured  bearing 
that  the  past  year  had  made  familiar.  It  was  a 
handsome  face,  if  somewhat  cold.  Its  owner  was 
rich,  his  standing  was  unquestioned.  The  fact  that 
he  was  ten  years  her  senior  had  but  made  his  atten- 
tions the  more  flattering.  He  had  had  no  inherited 
fortune  and  had  been  no  idler ;  for  this  she  admired 
him.  If  she  had  not  thrilled  to  his  declaration,  so 
far  as  liking  went,  she  liked  him.  The  week  she  left 
New  York  he  had  intended  a  yachting  trip  to  the 
Mediterranean.  When  he  told  her,  coolly  enough, 
that  he  should  ask  her  again  in  Japan,  she  had 
treated  it  as  a  jest,  though  knowing  him  quite  capa- 
ble of  meaning  it.  From  every  worldly  standpoint 
he  was  distinctly  eligible.  Every  one  who  knew 
them  both  confidently  expected  her  to  marry  Ware. 
Well,  why  not? 

Yet  to-day  she  did  not  ask  herself  the  question 
confidently.  It  belonged  still  to  the  limbo  of  the  fu- 
ture— to  the  convenient  "some  day"  to  which  her 

8 


WHERE  THE  DAY  BEGINS 

thought  had  always  banished  it.  Since  she  had 
grown  she  had  never  felt  for  any  one  the  sentiment 
she  had  dreamed  of  in  that  vivid  girlhood  of  hers, 
a  something  mixed  of  pride  and  joy,  that  a  sound 
or  touch  would  thrill  with  a  delight  as  keen  as  pain ; 
but  unconsciously,  perhaps,  she  had  been  clinging  to 
old  romantic  notions. 

A  passenger  leaning  near  her  was  whistling 
Sally  in  our  Alley  under  his  breath  and  a  Japan- 
ese steward  was  emptying  over  the  side  a  vase  of 
wilted  flowers.  A  breath  of  rose  scent  came  to  her, 
mixed  with  a  faint  smell  of  tobacco,  and  these  and 
the  whistled  air  awoke  a  sudden  reminiscence.  Her 
gaze  went  past  the  clustered  shipping,  beyond  the 
gray  line  of  buildings  and  the  masses  of  foliage,  and 
swam  into  a  tremulous  June  evening  seven  years 
past. 

She  saw  a  wide  campus  of  green  sward  studded 
with  stately  elms  festooned  with  electric  lights  that 
glowed  in  the  falling  twilight.  Scattered  about 
were  groups  of  benches  each  with  its  freight 
of  dainty  frocks,  and  on  one  of  them  she  saw  her- 
self sitting,  a  shy  girl  of  sixteen,  on  her  first  visit  to 
a  great  university.  Men  went  by  in  sober  black 
gown  and  flat  mortar-boards,  young,  clean-shaven, 
and  boyish,  with  arms  about  one  another's  shoul- 
ders. Here  and  there  an  orange  "blazer"  made  a 
vivid  splash  of  color  and  groups  in  white-flannels 
sprawled  beneath  the  trees  under  the  perfumed  haze 

9 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

of  briar-wood  pipes  that  mingled  with  the  near-by 
scent  of  roses.  From  one  of  the  balconies  of  the  ivied 
dormitories  that  faced  the  green  came  the  mellow 
tinkle  of  a  mandolin  and  the  sound  of  a  clear  tenor : 

"Of  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart, 

There's  none  like  pretty  Sally. 
She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart — " 

The  groups  about  her  had  fallen  silent — only  one 
voice  had  said :  "That's  'Duke'  Daunt."  Then  the 
melody  suddenly  broke  queerly  and  stopped,  and  the 
man  who  had  spoken  got  up  quickly  and  said :  "I'm 
going  in.  It's  time  to  dress  anyway."  And  some- 
how his  voice  had  seemed  to  break  queerly,  too. 

Duke  Daunt!  The  scene  shifted  into  the  next 
day,  when  she  had  met  him  for  a  handful  of  de- 
lirious moments.  For  how  long  afterward  had  he 
remained  her  childish  idol!  Time  had  overlaid  the 
memory,  but  it  started  bright  now  at  the  sound  of 
that  whistled  tune. 

Her  uncle's  voice  recalled  her.  He  was  handing 
her  his  binoculars.  She  took  them,  chose  a  spot  well 
forward  and  glued  her  eyes  to  the  glass. 

A  sigh  of  ecstasy  came  from  her  lips,  for  it 
brought  the  land  almost  at  arm's  length — the  stone 
hatoba  crowded  with  brown  Japanese  faces,  pricked 
out  here  and  there  by  the  white  Panama  hat  or  pith- 
helmet  of  the  foreigner ;  at  one  side  a  bouquet  of  gay 

10 


WHERE  THE  DAY  BEGINS 

muslin  dresses  and  beribboned  parasols  flanked  by 
a  phalanx  of  waiting  rick'sha, — the  little  flotilla 
of  crimson  sails  at  the  yacht  anchorage — the  stately, 
columned  front  of  the  club  on  the  Bund  with  its  cool 
terrace  of  round  tables — the  kimono' d  figures  squat- 
ting under  the  grotesquely  bent  pines  along  the 
water-front,  where  a  motor-car  flashed  like  a  bril- 
liant mailed  beetle — farther  away  tiny  shop-fronts 
hung  with  waving  figured  blue  and  beyond  them  a 
gray  billowing  of  tiled  roofs,  and  long,  bright,  yel- 
low-chequered streets  sauntering  toward  a  mass  of 
glowing  green  from  which  cherry  blooms  soared 
like  pink  balloons.  Arching  over  all  the  enormous 
height  of  the  spring-time  blue,  and  the  dreamy  soft 
witchery  of  the  declining  sun.  It  unfolded  before  her 
like  a  panorama — all  the  basking,  many-hued,  poly- 
glot, half-tropical  life — a  colorful  medley,  queer  and 
mysterious ! 

Nearer,  nearer  yet,  the  ship  drew  on,  till  there 
came  to  meet  it  two  curved  arms  of  breakwater,  a 
miniature  lighthouse  at  each  side.  The  captain  on 
the  bridge  lifted  his  hand,  and  a  cheer  rose  from  the 
group  of  male  passengers  below  him  as  the  anchor- 
chain  snored  through  the  hawse-holes. 

Barbara  lowered  the  glass  from  her  eyes.  The 
slow  swinging  of  the  vessel  to  the  anchor  had 
brought  a  dazzling  bulk  between  her  gaze  and  the 
shore,  perilously  near.  She  saw  it  now  in  its  proper 
perspective — a  trim  steam  yacht,  painted  white,  with 

II 


THE  KINGDOM  OF.  SLENDER  SWORDS 

a  rakish  air  of  speed  and  tauntness,  the  sun  glinting 
from  its  polished  brass  fittings.  It  lay  there,  grace- 
ful and  light,  a  sharp,  clean  contrast  to  the  gray  and 
yellow  junk  and  grotesque  sampan,  a  disdainful 
swan  amid  a  noisy  flock  of  teal  and  mallard. 

Adjusting  the  focus  Barbara  looked.  A  man  in 
naval  uniform  who  had  boarded  the  ship  at  Quaran- 
tine was  pointing  out  the  yacht  to  a  passenger,  and 
Barbara  caught  crisp  bits  of  sentences:  "You  see 
the  patches  of  green? — they're  decorations  for  the 
Squadron  that's  due  to-morrow.  Look  just  beyond 
them.  Prettiest  craft  I've  ever  seen  east  of  the 
Straits.  .  .  .  Came  in  this  morning.  Owner's  in 
Nara  now,  doing  the  temples.  .  .  .  Has  a 
younger  brother  who's  been  out  here  for  a  year,  go- 
ing the  pace.  .  .  .  They  won't  let  private  yachts 
lie  any  closer  in  or  they'd  go  high  and  dry  on 
empty  champagne  bottles." 

Barbara  was  feeling  a  strange  sensation  of  fa- 
miliarity. Puzzled,  she  withdrew  her  gaze,  then 
looked  once  more. 

Suddenly  she  dropped  the  glass  with  a  startled 
exclamation.  "What  are  you  going  to  do  with  that 
man  ?" — her  uncle's  query  seemed  to  echo  satirically 
about  her.  For  the  white  yacht  was  Austen  Ware's, 
and  there,  on  the  gleaming  bows,  in  polished  golden 
letters,  was  the  name 

BARBARA 


12 


CHAPTER  II 
"THE  ROOST" 

THE  day  had  been  sluggish  with  the  promise 
of  summer,  but  the  failing  afternoon  had 
brought  a  soft  suspiration  from  the  broad 
bosom  of  the  Pacific  laden  with  a  refreshing  cool- 
ness. Along  the  Bund,  however,  there  was  little  stir. 
A  few  blocks  away  the  foreign  dive-quarter  was 
drowsing,  and  only  a  single  samisen  twanged  in  Hep 
Goon's  saloon,  where  sailors  of  a  dozen  nationalities 
spent  their  wages  while  in  port.  At  the  curbing, 
under  the  telegraph  poles,  the  chattering  rick'sha 
coolies  squatted,  playing  Go  with  flat  stones  on  a 
square  scratched  with  a  pointed  stick  in  the  hard, 
beaten  ground.  On  the  spotless  mats  behind  their 
paper  shoji  the  curio-merchants  sat  on  their  gaudy 
wadded  cushions,  while,  over  the  glowing  fire-bowls 
of  charcoal  in  the  inner  rooms,  their  wives  cooked 
the  rice  for  the  early  evening  meal.  The  office  of 
the  Grand  Hotel  was  quiet;  only  a  handful  of 
loungers  gossiped  at  the  bar,  and  the  last  young 
lady  tourist  had  finished  her  flirtation  on  the  terrace 
and  retired  to  the  comfort  of  a  stayless  kimono.  In 
the  deep  foliage  of  the  "Bluff"  the  slanting  sunlight 

13 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

caught  and  quivered  till  the  green  mole  seemed  a 
mighty  beryl,  and  in  its  hedge-shaded  lanes,  dreamy 
as  those  of  an  English  village,  the  clear  air  was  pun- 
gent with  tropic  blooms. 

On  one  of  these  fragrant  byways,  its  front  look- 
ing out  across  the  bay,  stood  a  .small  bungalow 
which  bore  over  its  gateway  the  dubious  appellation 
"The  Roost."  From  its  enclosed  piazza,  over  which 
a  wistaria  vine  hung  pale  pendants,  a  twisted  stair 
led  to  the  roof,  half  of  which  was  flat.  This  space 
was  surrounded  by  a  balustrade  and  shaded  by  a 
rounded  gaily  striped  awning.  From  this  airy  re- 
treat the  water,  far  below,  looked  like  a  violet  shawl 
edged  with  shimmering  quicksilver  and  embroidered 
with  fairy  fishing  junk  and  sampan;  and  the  subdued 
voices  of  the  street  mingled,  vague  and  undefined, 
with  a  rich  dank  smell  of  foliage,  that  moved  si- 
lently, heavy  with  the  odor  of  plum-blossoms,  a 
gliding  ghost  of  perfume.  Thin  blue-and-white 
Tientsin  rugs  and  green  wicker  settees  gave  an  im- 
pression of  coolness  and  comfort;  a  pair  of  ornate 
temple  brasses  gleamed  on  a  smoking-stand,  and  a 
rich  Satsuma  bowl  did  duty  for  a  tobacco  jar. 

Under  the  striped  awning  three  men  were 
grouped  about  a  miniature  roulette  table;  a  fourth, 
middle-aged  and  of  huge  bulk,  with  a  cynical,  Sem- 
itic face,  from  a  wide  arm-chair  was  lazily  peering 
through  the  fleecy  curdle  of  a  Turkish  cigarette.  A 
fifth  stood  leaning  against  the  balustrade,  watching. 

14 


THE  ROOST 

The  last  was  tall,  clean-cut  and  smooth-shaven, 
with  comely  head  well  set  on  broad  shoulders,  and 
gray  eyes  keen  and  alert.  Possibly  no  one  of  the 
foreign  colony  (where  a  Secretary  of  Embassy  was 
by  no  means  a  rara  avis)  was  better  liked  than 
Duke  Daunt,  even  by  those  who  never  attempted 
to  be  sufficiently  familiar  with  him  to  call  him  by  the 
nickname,  which  a  characteristic  manner  had  earned 
him  in  his  salad  days. 

At  intervals  a  player  muttered  an  impatient  ex- 
clamation or  gave  a  monosyllabic  order  to  the  stolid 
Japanese  servant  who  passed  noiselessly,  deftly  re- 
plenishing glasses.  Through  all  ran  the  droning 
buzz  of  bees  in  the  wistaria,  the  recurrent  rustle  of 
the  metal  wheel,  the  nervous  click  of  the  rolling 
marble  and  the  shuffle  and  thud  of  the  ivory  disks 
on  the  green  baize.  All  at  once  the  marble  blundered 
into  its  compartment  and  one  of  the  gamesters  burst 
into  a  boisterous  laugh  of  triumph. 

As  the  sudden  discord  jangled  across  the  silence, 
the  big  man  in  the  arm-chair  started  half  round,  his 
lips  twitched  and  a  spasm  of  something  like  fright 
crossed  his  face.  The  glass  at  his  elbow  was  empty, 
but  he  raised  it  and  drained  air,  while  the  ice  in  it 
tinkled  and  clinked.  He  set  it  down  and  wiped  his 
lips  with  a  half-furtive  glance  about  him,  but  the 
curious  agitation  had  apparently  been  unnoted,  and 
presently  his  face  had  once  more  regained  its  specu- 
lative, slightly  sardonic  expression. 

IS 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

Suddenly  a  distant  gun  boomed  the  hour  pf  sun- 
set. At  the  same  instant  the  marble  ceased  its  er- 
ratic career,  the  wheel  stilled  and  the  youngest  of 
the  gaming  trio  and  the  master  of  the  place — Philip 
Ware,  a  graceful,  shapely  fellow  of  twenty-three, 
with  a  flushed  face  and  nervous  manner — pushed 
the  scattered  counters  across  the  table  with  shaking 
fingers. 

"My  limit  to-day,"  he  said  with  sullen  petulance, 
and  flipping  the  marble  angrily  into  the  garden  be- 
low, crossed  to  a  table  and  poured  out  a  brandy-and- 
soda. 

Daunt's  gray  eyes  had  been  looking  at  him  stead- 
ily, a  little  curiously.  He  had  known  him  seven 
years  before  at  college,  though  the  other  had  been  in 
a  lower  class  than  himself.  But  those  intervening 
years  had  left  their  baleful  marks.  At  home  Phil 
had  stood  only  for  loose  habit,  daring  fad,  and 
flaunting  mannerism — milestones  of  a  career  as 
completely  dissolute  as  a  consistent  disregard  of 
conventional  moral  thoroughfares  could  well  make 
it.  To  Yokohama  he  was  rapidly  coming  to  be,  in 
the  eyes  of  the  censorious,  an  example  for  well- 
meaning  youth  to  avoid,  an  incorrigible  flaneur,  a 
purposeless  idler  on  the  primrose  paths. 

"Better  luck  next  time,"  said  one  of  the  others 
lightly.  "Come  along,  Larry;  we'll  be  off  to  the 
club." 

The  older  man  rose  to  depart  more  deliberately, 
16 


THE  ROOST 

his  great  size  becoming  apparent.  He  was  framed 
like  a  wrestler,  abnormal  width  of  shoulder  and 
massive  head  giving  an  effect  of  weight  which  con- 
trasted oddly  with  aquiline  features  in  which  was  a 
touch  of  the  accipitrine,  something  ironic  and  sinis- 
ter, like  a  vulture.  His  eyes  were  dappled  yellow 
and  deep-set  and  had  a  peculiar  expression  of  cold, 
untroubled  regard.  He  crossed  to  the  farther  side 
and  looked  down. 

"What  a  height !"  he  said.  "The  whole  harbor  is 
laid  out  like  a  checker-board."  He  spoke  in  a  tone 
curiously  dead  and  lacking  in  timbre.  His  English 
was  perfect,  with  a  trace  of  accent. 

"Pretty  fair,"  assented  Phil  morosely.  "It  ought 
tc  be  a  good  place  to  view  the  Squadron,  when  it 
comes  in  to-morrow  morning.  It  must  have  cost  the 
Japanese  navy  department  a  pretty  penny  to  build 
those  temporary  wharves  along  the  Bund.  They 
must  be  using  a  thousand  incandescents !  By  the 
decorations  you'd  think  the  Dreadnaughts  were 
Japan's  long  lost  brothers,  instead  of  battle-ships  of 
a  country  that's  likely  to  have  a  row  on  with  her  al- 
most any  minute.  I  wonder  where  they  will  an- 
chor." 

The  yellowish  eyes  had  been  gazing  with  an  odd, 
intent  glitter,  and  into  the  heavy,  pallid  face,  turned 
away,  had  sprung  sharp,  evil  lines,  that  seemed  the 
shadows  of  some  monstrous  reflection  on  which  the 
mind  had  fed.  Its  sudden,  wicked  vitality  was  in 

17 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

strange  contrast  to  the  toneless  voice,  which  now 
said :  "They  will  lie  just  opposite  this  point." 

"So  far  in?"  The  young  man  leaning  on  the 
balustrade  spoke  interestedly. 

"It  seems  as  though  from  here  one  could  almost 
shoot  a  pea  aboard  any  one  of  them." 

"You  might  send  me  up  some  sticks  of  Shimose, 
Doctor,"  said  Phil  with  satiric  humor,  "and  I'll  prac- 
tise. I'll  begin  by  shying  a  few  at  this  forsaken  town ; 
it  needs  it !" 

The  big  man  smiled  faintly  as  he  withdrew  his 
eyes,  and  held  out  his  hand  to  the  remaining  visitor. 
The  degrading  lines  had  faded  from  his  face. 

"I'm  distinctly  glad  to  have  seen  you,  Mr.  Daunt," 
he  said.  "I've  watched  your  trials  with  your  aero- 
plane more  than  once  lately  at  the  parade-ground. 
I  saw  the  elder  Wright  at  Paris  last  year  and  I  be- 
lieve your  flight  will  prove  as  well  sustained  as  his. 
It's  a  pity  you  can't  compete  for  some  of  the  Euro- 
pean prizes." 

"I'm  afraid  that  would  take  me  out  of  the  amateur 
class,"  was  the  answer.  "It's  purely  an  amusement 
with  me — a  fad,  if  you  like." 

"A  very  useful  one,"  said  the  other,  "unless  you 
break  your  neck  at  it.  I  wonder  we  haven't  met  be- 
fore in  Tokyo.  I  have  an  appointment  to-night,  by 
the  way,  with  your  Ambassador.  Come  in  to  see 
me  soon,"  he  said,  turning  to  Phil.  "I'm  at  home 
most  of  the  time.  Come  and  dine  with  me  again. 

18 


THE  ROOST 

I've  only  an  indifferent  cook,  as  you  have  discov- 
ered, I'm  afraid,  but  my  new  boy  Ishida  can  make  a 
famous  cup  of  coffee  and  I  can  always  promise  you 
a  good  cigar." 

"Doctor  Bersonin's  the  real  thing!"  said  Phil, 
when  the  other  had  disappeared.  "He's  a  scientist — 
the  biggest  in  his  line — but  he's  no  prig.  He  be- 
lieves in  enjoying  life.  You  ought  to  see  his  villa  at 
Kisaraz  on  the  Chiba  Road.  He's  worth  a  million, 
they  say,  and  he  must  make  no  end  of  money  as  a 
government  expert."  He  paused,  then  added :  "You 
seem  mighty  quiet  to-night  I  How  does  he  strike 
you?" 

Daunt  was  silent.  He  had  seen  that  strange  look 
that  had  shot  across  the  expert's  face — at  the  sound 
of  a  laugh !  He  was  wondering,  too,  what  attrac- 
tion could  exist  between  this  middle-aged  scientist 
with  his  cold  eyes  and  emotionless  voice  and  Phil, 
sparkling  and  irresponsible  black-sheep  and  ne'er- 
do-well,  who  thought  of  nothing  but  his  own  coarse 
pleasures.  Frequently,  of  late,  he  had  seen  them  to- 
gether, at  theater  or  tea-house,  and  once  in  Ber- 
sonin's motor-car  in  Shiba  Park  in  Tokyo. 

"You  don't  like  him!  I  can  see  that  well 
enough,"  went  on  Phil  aggressively.  "Why  not? 
He's  a  lot  above  any  man  /  know,  and  I'm  proud  to 
have  him  for  a  friend  of  mine." 

"There's  no  accounting  for  tastes,"  returned 
Daunt  dryly.  "At  any  rate,  I  don't  imagine  it  mat- 

19 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

ters  particularly  whether  I  like  Doctor  Bersonin  or 
not.  There's  another  thing  that's  more  apropos." 
He  pointed  to  the  decanter  in  the  other's  hands. 
"You've  had  enough  of  that  to-night,  I  should 
think." 

Phil  reddened.  "I've  had  no  more  than  I  can 
carry,  if  it  comes  to  that,"  he  retorted.  "And  I 
guess  I'm  able  to  take  care  of  myself." 

Daunt  hesitated  a  moment.  To-day's  call  had 
been  a  part  of  his  consistent  effort,  steadily  growing 
more  irksome,  to  keep  alive  for  the  sake  of  the  old 
college  name,  the  quasi  friendship  between  them  and 
to  invoke  whatever  influence  he  might  once  have 
possessed. 

"I'm  thinking  of  your  brother,"  he  said  quietly. 
"You  say  his  yacht  came  into  harbor  from  Kobe  to- 
day. He'll  scarcely  be  more  than  a  week  in  the 
temple  cities,  and  any  train  may  bring  him  after 
that.  You'll  want  all  the  time  you've  got  to 
straighten  out.  You'll  need  to  put  your  best  foot 
forward." 

A  look  that  was  not  pleasant  shot  across  Phil's 
face.  "I  suppose  I  shall,"  he  said  savagely.  "A 
pretty  brother  he  is !  He  wrote  me  from  home  that 
if  he  found  I'd  been  playing,  he'd  cut  his  allowance 
to  me  to  twenty  dollars  a  week.  I'd  like  to  knock 
that  smile  of  his  down  his  throat — the  cold-blooded 
fish !  He  spends  enough !" 

"He's  earned  it,  I  understand,"  said  Daunt. 
20 


THE  ROOST 

"So  will  I,  perhaps,  after  I've  had  my  fling-.  I'm 
in  no  hurry,  and  I  won't  take  orders  always  from 
him !  I've  had  to  knuckle  down  to  him  all  my  life, 
and  I'm  precious  tired  of  it,  I  can  tell  you." 

Daunt's  eyes  had  turned  to  the  broad  expanse  be- 
low, where  the  white  sails  of  vagrant  sampan 
drifted.  In  the  road  he  could  hear  the  sharp  tap-tap 
of  a  blind  amma — adept  in  the  Japanese  massage 
which  coaxes  soreness  from  the  body — as  he  passed 
slowly  along,  feeling  his  way  with  his  stick  and 
from  time  to  time  sounding  on  his  metal  flute  his 
characteristic  double  note.  Across  the  moment's 
silence  the  sound  came  clear  and  bird-like,  very 
shrill  and  sweet. 

"What  business  is  it  of  his,"  Phil  added,  "if  I 
choose  to  stay  out  here  in  the  East?" 

Daunt  withdrew  his  gaze.  "Take  his  advice, 
Phil,"  he  said.  "The  East  isn't  doing  you  any 
good.  You're  doing  nothing  but  dissipate.  And — 
it  doesn't  pay." 

Phil  gave  a  short,  sneering  laugh.  "Why 
shouldn't  I  stay  abroad  if  I  can  have  more  fun  here 
than  I  can  at  home?"  he  returned.  "If  I  had  my 
way,  I'd  never  want  to  see  the  United  States  again ! 
This  country  suits  me  at  present.  When  I  get  tired, 
I'll  leave — if  I  can  raise  enough  to  get  out  of  town." 

A  flush  had  risen  to  Daunt's  forehead,  but  he 
turned  away  without  reply.  At  the  stair,  however, 
he  spoke  again : 

21 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"Look  here,  Phil,"  he  said,  coming  slowly  back. 
"Why  not  come  up  to  Tokyo  for  a  while?  It's — • 
quieter,  and  it  will  be  a  change.  I  have  a  little 
Japanese  house  in  Aoyama  that  I  leased  as  a  place 
to  work  on  my  Glider  models,  but  I  don't  use  it 
now,  and  it's  fairly  well  furnished.  The  caretaker 
is  an  excellent  cook,  too."  He  took  a  key  from  its 
ring  and  laid  it  on  the  table.  "Let  me  leave  this  any- 
way— the  address  is  on  the  label — and  do  as  you  like 
about  it." 

Phil  looked  at  him  an  instant  with  narrowing 
eyes,  then  laughed.  "Tokyo  as  a  gentle  sedative, 
eh  ?  And  pastoral  visitations  every  other  day !" 

"You  needn't  be  afraid  of  that,"  replied  Daunt. 
"I'll  not  come  to  lecture  you.  I  haven't  set  foot  in 
the  place  for  a  month,  and  probably  shan't  for  a 
month  to  come.  Go  up  and  try  it,  anyway.  Drop  the 
Bund  and  the  races  for  a  little  while  and  get  a  grip 
on  things!" 

Phil  looked  away.  A  sudden  memory  came  to 
him  of  a  face  he  had  seen  in  Tokyo — at  one  of  the 
matsuri  or  ward-festivals — a  girl's  face,  oval  and 
pensive  and  with  a  smile  like  a  flash  of  sunlight. 
Her  kimono  had  been  all  of  holiday  colors,  and  he 
had  tried  desperately  to  pick  acquaintance,  with  poor 
success.  A  second  time  he  had  seen  her,  on  the 
beach  at  Kamakura.  Then  she  had  worn  a  kimono 
of  rich  brown,  soft  and  clinging,  and  an  obi  stamped 
with  yellow  maple  leaves  and  fastened  with  a  little 

22 


THE  ROOST 

silver  clasp  in  the  shape  of  a  firefly.  She  was  with 
a  party  pf  girls  bent  on  frolic;  they  had  discarded 
the  white  cleft  tabi  and  clog  and  were  splashing 
through  the  surf  bare-kneed.  He  could  see  yet  the 
foam  on  the  perfect  naked  feet,  and  below  the  lifted 
kimono  and  red  petticoat,  the  gleam  of  the  white 
skin  that  is  the  dream  of  Japanese  women.  A  flush 
crept  over  Phil's  face  as  he  remembered.  He  had 
had  better  success  that  time.  She  had  dropped  her 
swinging  clog  and  he  had  rescued  it,  and  won  a 
word  of  thanks  and  a  smile  from  her  dark  eyes. 
She  herself  had  unbent  little,  but  the  girls  with  her 
were  full  of  frolic  and  the  handsome  foreigner  was 
an  adventure.  He  had  discovered  that  she  spoke 
English  and  lived  in  Tokyo,  in  the  ward  of  the 
matsuri.  But  though  he  had  strolled  through  that 
district  a  score  of  times  since,  he  had  not  seen  her 
again. 

"You're  not  a  bad  sort,  Daunt,"  he  said.  "I  don't 
know  but  I — will." 

"Good,"  said  Daunt.  "I'll  send  a  chit  to  my  care- 
taker the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  and  I'll  put  your 
name  on  the  visitors'  list  at  the  Tokyo  Club.  .Well, 
I  must  be  off." 

Phil  saw  him  cross  the  fragrant  close  to  the  gate 
with  a  growing  sneer.  Then  he  threw  himself  on  a 
chair  and  gazed  moodily  out  across  the  deepening 
haze  to  where,  just  inside  the  harbor  breakwater, 

23 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

lay  the  white  yacht  of  whose  coming  Daunt  had 
spoken. 

A  bitter  scowl  was  on  his  face.  Far  below,  at  a 
little  wharf,  he  could  see  a  tiny  red  triangle;  it 
marked  his  sail-boat,  the  Fatted-Calf,  so  chris- 
tened at  a  tea-house  on  the  river  where  he  and 
other  choice  spirits  maintained  the  club  whose 
geisha  suppers  had  become  notorious.  Japan,  to  his 
way  of  life,  had  proven  expensive.  He  had  drawn 
on  every  available  resource  and  had  borrowed  more 
than  he  liked  to  remember,  but  still  his  debts  had 
grown.  And  now,  with  the  coming  of  the  white 
yacht,  he  saw  a  lowering  danger  to  the  allowance 
on  which  he  abjectly  depended.  He  knew  his  brother 
for  one  whom  no  plea  could  sway  from  a  determina- 
tion, who  on  occasion  could  hew  to  the  line  with 
merciless  exactitude.  Suppose  he  should  cut  off  his 
allowance  altogether.  An  ugly  passion  stole  over 
his  countenance.  He  sprang  up,  filled  a  glass  from 
the  decanter  and  drank  it  thirstily.  With  the  in- 
stant glow  of  the  liquor  his  mood  relaxed.  He 
picked  up  the  key  from  the  table  and  stood  thought- 
fully swinging  it  a  moment  by  its  wooden  label. 
Then  he  put  it  in  his  pocket  and,  looking  at  his 
watch,  caught  up  a  straw  hat  and  went  briskly  down 
to  the  street. 

He  swung  down  the  steep,  twisting,  ravine-like 
road  to  the  Bund  with  less  of  ill-humor.  He  had  no 
thought  of  the  dark  blue  sky  arching  over,  soft  with 

24 


THE  ROOST 

vapors  like  a  smoke  of  gold,  or  of  the  glimpses  of 
the  sea  that  came  in  sharp  bursts  of  light  between 
the  curving  walls  that  towered  on  either  side.  He 
sniffed  the  thick,  Eastern  smells  as  a  cat  sniffs  cat- 
nip, his  eye  searching  the  stream  of  brown,  shouting 
coolies  and  toiling  rick'sha,  to  linger  on  a  satiny 
oval  face  under  a  shining  head-dress,  or  the  pow- 
dered cheek  of  a  gold-brocaded  geisha  on  her  way 
to  some  noble's  feast. 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill,  stood  a  sign-board  on 
which  was  pasted  a  large  bill  in  yellow : 

AT  THE  GAIETY  THEATER 

LIMITED  ENGAGEMENT  OF 

THE  POPULAR  HARDMANN  COMIC  OPERA  COMPANY 

WITH 
MISS  CISSY  CLIFFORD 

He  paused  in  front  of  this  a  moment,  then  passed 
to  the  Bund.  At  its  upper  end,  near  the  hotel  front, 
great  floating  wharves  had  been  built  out  into  the 
water.  They  were  gaily  trimmed  with  bunting  and 
electric  lights  in  geometrical  designs,  and  were 
flanked  by  arches  covered  with  twigs  of  ground- 
pine.  A  small  army  of  workmen  were  still  busied 
on  them,  for  the  European  Squadron  in  whose 
honor  they  had  been  erected  would  arrive  at  dawn 
the  next  morning.  Just  beyond  the  arches,  under  a 
row  of  twisted  pines,  were  a  number  of  park  benches, 

25 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

and  from  one  of  these  a  girl  with  a  beribboned 
parasol  greeted  him. 

"You're  a  half  hour  late,  Phil,"  she  complained. 
"I've  been  waiting  here  till  I'm  tired  to  death."  She 
made  place  for  him  with  a  rustle  of  flounces.  She 
was  showily  dressed,  her  cheeks  bore  the  marks  of 
habitual  grease-paint  and  the  ringers  of  one  over- 
ringed  hand  were  slightly  yellowed  from  cigarette 
smoke. 

"Hello,  Cissy,"  he  said  carelessly,  and  sat  down 
beside  her.  In  his  mind  was  still  the  picture  of  that 
oval  Japanese  face  suffused  with  pink,  those  pretty 
bare  feet  splashing  through  the  foam,  and  he  looked 
sidewise  at  his  companion  with  an  instant's  sullen 
distaste. 

"I  had  another  row  with  the  manager  to-day," 
she  continued.  "I  told  him  he  must  think  his  com- 
pany was  a  kindergarten !" 

"Trust  you  to  set  him  right  in  that,"  he  answered 
satirically. 

"My  word !"  she  exclaimed.  "How  glum  you  are 
to-day!  Same  old  poverty,  I  suppose."  She  rose 
and  shook  out  her  skirts.  "Come,"  she  said. 
"There's  no  play  to-night.  I'm  in  for  a  lark.  Let's 
go  to  the  Jewel-Fountain  Tea-House.  They've  got 
a  new  juggler  there." 


•26 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  LAND  OF  THE  GODS 

IN  the  first  touch  of  the  shore,  where  the  Am- 
bassador's pretty  daughter  waited,  Barbara's 
problem  had  been  swept  away.  Patricia  had 
rushed  to  meet  her,  embraced  her,  with  a  moist, 
ecstatic  kiss  on  her  cheek,  rescued  the  bishop  from 
his  ordeal  of  hand-shaking  and  carried  him  off 
to  find  their  trunks,  leaving  Barbara  borne  down  by 
a  Babel  of  sound  and  scent  whose  newness  made  her 
breathless,  and  to  whose  manifold  sensations  she 
was  as  keenly  alive  as  a  photographic  plate  to  color. 
A  half-dozen  gnarled,  unshaven  porters  in  exces- 
sively shabby  jackets  and  straw  sandals  carried  her 
hand-baggage  into  the  hideously  modern,  red-brick 
custom-house,  over  whose  entrance  a  huge  golden 
conventionalized  chrysanthemum  shone  in  the  sun- 
light, and  as  she  watched  them,  a  dapper  youth  in 
European  -dress,  with  a  shining  brown  derby,  a 
bright  purple  neck-tie,  a  silver-mounted  cane  and 
teeth  eloquent  of  gold  bridge-work,  slid  into  her 
hand  a  card  whose  type  proclaimed  that  Mr.  Y. 
Nakajima  "did  the  guiding  for  foreign  ladies  and 
gentlemans."  The  air  was  fragrant  with  the  mild 

27 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

aroma  from  tiny  Japanese  pipes  and  a-flutter  with 
moving  fans.  A  group  of  elderly  men  in  hot  frock- 
coats  and  tiles  of  not  too  modern  vintage  were  wel- 
coming a  returning  official,  and  sedate  gentlemen  in 
sad-colored  houri  and  spotless  cleft  foot-wear, 
bowed  double  in  stately  ceremonial,  with  the  suck- 
ing-in  of  breath  which  in  the  old-fashioned  Japanese 
etiquette  means  "respectful  awe  bordering  on 
terror." 

Barbara  had  found  herself  singularly  conscious 
of  a  feeling  of  universal  good-nature.  It  came  to 
her  even  in  the  posture  of  the  resting  coolies, 
stretched  at  the  side  of  the  quay,  lazily  sunning 
themselves,  with  whiffs  of  the  omnipresent  little 
pipe,  and  in  the  faces  of  the  bare-legged  rick'sha 
men,  with  round  hats  like  bobbing  mushrooms, 
arms  and  chests  glistening  with  sweat,  and  thin 
towels  printed  in  black  and  blue  designs  tucked  in 
their  girdles.  She  smiled  at  them,  and  they  smiled 
back  at  her  with  that  unvarying  smile  which  the 
Japanese  of  every  caste  wears  to  wedding  and  to 
funeral.  She  even  caught  herself  patting  the  ton- 
sured head  of  a  preternaturally  solemn  baby 
swaddled  in  a  variegated  kimono  and  strapped  to  the 
back  of  a  five-year-old  boy. 

The  rick'sha  ride  to  the  stenshun  (for  so  the 
Japanese  has  adapted  the  English  word  "station") 
was  a  moving  panorama  of  strange  high  lights  and 
shades,  of  savory  odors  from  bake-ovens,  of  open 

28 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  GODS 

shop-fronts  hung  with  gaudy  figured  crape,  or  piled 
with  saffron  biwa,  warty  purple  melons,  ebony  egg- 
plant, shriveled  yellow  peppers  and  red  Hokkaido 
apples,  of  weighted  carts  drawn  by  chanting  half- 
naked  coolies,  and  swiftly  gliding  victorias  of  Euro- 
peans. From  a  hundred  houses  in  the  long,  narrow 
streets  hung  huge  gilded  sign-boards,  painted  with 
idiographs  of  black  and  red.  At  intervals  the  tall 
stone  front  of  a  foreign  business  building  looked 
down  on  its  neighbors,  or  a  tea-house  towered 
three  stories  high,  showing  gay  little  verandas  on 
which  stood  pots  of  flowers  and  dwarf  trees;  be- 
tween were  smaller  houses  of  frame  and  of  cement, 
and  thick-walled  go-downs  for  storing  goods  against 
fire. 

Here  and  there,  from  behind  a  gateway  of  un- 
painted  wood,  showing  a  delicate  grain,  a  pine 
thrust  up  its  needled  clump  of  green,  or  a  cherry- 
tree  flung  its  pink  pyrotechnics  against  the  sky's 
flood  of  dimming  blue  and  gold.  At  a  crossing 
a  deformed  beggar  with  distorted  face  and  the 
featureless  look  of  the  leper,  waved  a  crutch  and 
wheedled  from  the  roadside,  and  a  child  in  dun- 
colored  rags,  unbelievably  agile  and  dirty,  ran 
ahead  of  Barbara's  rick'sha,  prostrating  himself 
again  and  again  in  the  dust,  holding  out  grimy 
hands  and  whining  for  a  sen.  In  the  side  streets 
Barbara  could  catch  glimpses  of  bare-breasted 
women  sitting  in  shop  doors  nursing  babies,  and 

29 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

children  of  a  larger  growth  playing  Japanese  hop- 
scotch or  tossing  "diavolo,"  the  latest  foreign  toy. 

When  the  rick'sha  set  them  down  at  the  station 
she  felt  bewildered,  yet  full  of  exhiliration.  As 
they  drew  up  at  its  stone  front,  a  porter  with  red 
cap  and  brass  buttons  emerged  and  began  to  ring  a 
heavy  bell,  swinging  it  back  and  forth  in  both 
hands.  The  bishop  bought  their  tickets  at  a  little 
barred  window  bearing  over  it  the  sign:  "Your 
baggages  will  be  sent  freely  in  every  direction." 

Making  their  way  along  the  platform,  crowded 
with  Japanese,  mostly  in  native  dress,  and  rilled 
with  the  aroma  of  cigarettes  and  the  thin  ringing 
of  innumerable  wooden  clogs  on  stone  flags,  Bar- 
bara was  conscious  for  the  first  time  of  a  studious 
surveillance.  A  young  Japanese  passed  her  carrying 
his  bent  and  wizened  mother  on  his  back;  the  old 
woman,  clutching  him  tightly  about  the  neck,  turned 
her  shaven  head  to  watch.  Children  in  startling 
rainbow  tinted  kimono  stared  from  the  platform 
with  round,  serious  eyes.  A  peasant  woman,  with 
teeth  brilliantly  blackened,  peered  from  a  car  win- 
dow, and  a  group  of  young  men  turned  bodily 
and  regarded  her  with  gravely  observant  gaze,  in  a 
prolonged,  unwinking  scrutiny  that  seemed  as  inno- 
cent of  courtesy  as  of  any  intent  to  offend.  In  Euro- 
pean cities  she  had  felt  the  gaze  of  other  races,  but 
this  was  different.  It  was  not  the  curious  study  of 
a  phenomenon,  of  an  enduring  puzzle  of  far  origins, 

30 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  GODS 

nor  the  expression  of  the  ignorant,  vacantly  amused 
by  what  they  do  not  understand;  it  was  a 
deeper  look  of  inner  placidity,  that  held  no  wonder 
and  no  awe,  and  somehow  suggested  thoughts  as 
ancient  as  the  world.  A  curious  sense  began  to 
possess  Barbara  of  having  left  behind  her  all  fa- 
miliar every-day  things,  of  being  face  to  face  with 
some  new  wonder,  some  brooding  mystery  which 
she  could  not  grasp. 

They  entered  the  car  just  behind  an  ample  lady 
who  had  been  among  the  ship's  passengers — a  good- 
natured,  voluble  Cook's  tourist  who,  the  second  day 
out,  had  confided  to  Barbara  her  certainty  of  an  in- 
vitation to  the  Imperial  Cherry-Blossom  party,  as 
her  husband  had  "a  friend  in  the  litigation."  She 
wore  a  painted-muslin,  and  the  husband  of  influen- 
tial acquaintance  and  substantial,  red-bearded  person 
showed  now  a  gleaming  expanse  of  white  waistcoat 
crossed  by  a  gold  watch-chain  that  might  have  re- 
strained a  tiger.  The  lady  nodded  and  smiled  beam- 
ingly. 

"Isn't  it  all  perfectly  splendid!"  she  cried. 
"There  was  a  baby  on  the  platform  that  was  too 
sweet! — for  all  the  world  like  the  Japanese  dolls  we 
buy  at  home,  with  their  hair  shingled  and  a  little 
round  spot  shaved  right  in  the  crown !  My  husband 
tried  to  give  it  a  silver  dollar,  but  the  mother  just 
smiled  and  bowed  and  went  away  and  left  it  lying 
on  the  bench."  She  found  a  seat  and  fanned  herself 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

vigorously  with  a  handkerchief.  "I  just  thought  I 
never  would  get  through  that  car  door,"  she  added. 
"It's  only  two  feet  across !" 

The  road  was  narrow  gage  and  the  seats  ran 
the  length  of  the  car  on  either  side.  Hardly  had  its 
occupants  settled  themselves  when,  to  the  shrill 
piping  of  a  horn,  the  train  started. 

"Goodness,  this  is  a  relief!"  sighed  Patricia,  as 
the  bishop  opened  the  first  Japanese  newspaper  he 
had  seen  for  many  months.  "I  hate  rick'sha — 
they're  such  unsociable  things!  I  haven't  said  ten 
words  to  you,  Barbara,  and  I've  got  oceans  to  talk 
about.  But  I'll  be  merciful  till  I  get  you  home. 
What  a  good-looking  youth  that  is  in  the  corner!" 

The  young  man  referred  to  had  a  light  skin  and 
long,  almond-shaped  eyes.  He  wore  a  suit  of  gray 
merino  underwear,  and  between  the  end  of  the 
drawers  and  the  white,  cleft  sock,  an  inch  of  pol- 
ished skin  was  visible.  His  hat  was  a  modish  felt. 
His  houri,  which  bore  a  woven  crest  on  breast  and 
sleeves,  swung  jauntily  open  and  above  his  left  ear 
was  coquettishly  disposed  an  unlighted  cigarette. 
Next  him,  under  a  brass  rack  piled  with  bright-pat- 
terned carpet-bags,  an  old  lady  in  dove-colored  silk 
was  placidly  inflating  a  rubber  air-cushion.  Her 
face  had  an  artificial  delicacy  of  nuance  that  was  a 
triumph  of  rice-powder  and  rouge.  Beside  her  was 
a  girl  of  perhaps  eighteen,  in  a  kimono  of  dark  blue 
and  an  obi  of  gold  brocade.  The  latter  wore  white 

32 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  GODS 

silk  "mits"  with  bright  metal  trimming  and  on  one 
slender  finger  was  a  diamond  ring.  Her  hands  were 
delicately  artistic  and  expressive,  and  her  com- 
plexion as  soft  as  the  white  wing  of  a  miller.  She 
gazed  steadfastly  away,  but  now  and  then  her  sloe- 
black  eyes  returned  to  study  Barbara's  foreign 
gown  and  hat  with  surreptitious  attention. 

"What  complexions!"  whispered  Patricia.  "The 
old  lady  made  hers  this  morning,  sitting  flat  on  a 
white  mat  in  front  of  a  camphor-wood  dressing- 
chest  about  two  feet  high,  with  twenty  drawers  and 
a  round  steel  mirror  on  top.  It  beats  a  hare's-foot, 
doesn't  it!  The  daughter's  is  natural.  If  I  had 
been  born  with  a  skin  like  that,  it  would  have 
changed  my  whole  disposition !" 

Having  settled  her  air-cushion,  the  old  lady  drew 
from  her  girdle  a  lacquer  case  and  produced  a  pipe — 
a  thin  reed  with  a  tiny  silver  bowl  at  its  end.  A  flat 
box  yielded  a  pinch  of  tobacco  as  fine  as  snuff.  This 
she  rolled  between  her  fingers  into  a  ball  the  size  of 
a  small  pea,  placed  it  carefully  in  the  bowl  and  be- 
gan to  smoke.  Each  puff  she  inhaled  with  a  linger- 
ing inspiration  and  emitted  it  slowly,  in  a  thin 
curdled  cloud,  from  her  nostrils.  Three  puffs,  and 
the  tiny  coal  was  exhausted.  She  tapped  the  pipe 
gently  against  the  edge  of  the  seat,  put  it  back  into 
the  case  and  replaced  the  latter  in  her  girdle.  Then, 
tucking  up  her  feet  under  her  on  the  plush  seat,  she 
turned  her  back  to  the  aisle  and  went  to  sleep. 

33 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

Three  students  in  the  uniform  of  some  lower 
school  with  foreign  jackets  of  blue-black  cloth  set 
off  with  brass  buttons,  sat  in  a  row  on  the  opposite 
side.  Each  had  a  cap  like  a  cadet's,  with  a  gilt 
cherry-blossom  on  its  front,  and  all  watched  Bar- 
bara movelessly.  The  man  nearest  her  wore  a 
round  straw  hat  and  horn  spectacles.  He  was  read- 
ing a  vernacular  newspaper,  intoning  under  his 
breath  with  a  monotonous  sing-song,  like  the 
humming  of  a  bumblebee.  Between  them  a  little  boy 
sat  on  the  edge  of  the  seat,  his  clogs  hanging  from 
the  thong  between  his  bare  toes,  the  sleeves  of  his 
kimono  bulging  with  bundles.  He  stared  as  if  hyp- 
notized at  a  curl  pf  Barbara's  bronze  hair  which  lay 
against  the  cushion.  Once  he  stretched  out  a  hand 
furtively  to  touch  it,  but  drew  it  back  hastily. 

"If  I  could  only  talk  to  him !"  Barbara  exclaimed. 
"I  want  to  know  the  language.  Tell  me,  Patsy — 
how  long  did  it  take  you  to  learn?" 

"I?" cried  Patricia  in  comical  amazement.  "Heav- 
ens and  earth,  /  haven't  learned  it!  I  only  know 
enough  to  badger  the  servants.  You  have  to  turn 
yourself  inside  out  to  think  Japanese,  and  then  stand 
on  your  head  to  talk  it." 

"Never  mind,  Barbara,"  said  the  bishop,  looking 
up  from  his  newspaper.  "You  can  learn  it  if  you  in- 
sist on  it.  Haru  would  be  a  capital  teacher — bless 
my  soul,  I  believe  I  forgot  to  tell  you  about  her!" 

"Who  is  Haru?"  asked  Barbara. 
34 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  GODS 

"She's  a  young  Japanese  girl,  the  daughter  of 
the  old  samurai  who  sold  us  the  land  for  the 
Chapel.  The  family  is  a  fine  old  one,  but  of  frayed 
fortune.  I  was  greatly  interested  in  her,  chiefly, 
perhaps,  because  she  is  a  Christian.  She  became  so 
with  her  father's  consent,  though  he  is  a  Buddhist. 
She  isn't  of  the  servant  class,  of  course,  but  I 
thought — if  you  liked — she  would  make  an  ideal 
companion  for  you  while  you  are  learning  Tokyo." 

"I  know  Haru,"  said  Patricia.  "She's  a  dear! 
She's  as  pretty  as  a  picture,  and  her  English  is  too 
quaint!" 

"It  would  be  lovely  to  have  her,"  Barbara 
answered,  "You're  a  very  thoughtful  man,  Uncle 
Arthur.  Are  you  sure  she'll  want  to?" 

"I'll  send  her  a  note  and  ask  her  to  come  to  you 
at  the  Embassy  this  evening.  Then — all  aboard  for 
the  Japanese  lessons !" 

"No  such  wisdom  for  me,  thank  you,"  said 
Patricia.  "I  prefer  to  take  mine  in  through  the 
pores.  All  the  Japanese  officials  speak  English  any- 
way, just  as  much  as  the  diplomatic  corps.  By  the 
way,  there's  Count  Voynich,  the  Servian  Charge/' 
She  nodded  toward  the  farther  end  of  the  carriage 
where  a  bored-looking  European  plaintively  re- 
garded the  landscape  through  a  monocle.  "He's 
nice,"  she  added  reflectively,  "but  he's  a  dyspeptic. 
I  caught  him  one  night  at  a  dinner  dropping  a  cap- 
sule into  his  soup.  He  has  a  cabinet  with  three 

;35 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

hundred  Japanese  nets'kes — they're  the  little  ivory 
carvings  on  the  strings  of  tobacco-pouches.  He 
didn't  speak  to  me  for  a  month  once  because  I  said  it 
looked  like  a  dental  exhibition.  Almost  every  sec- 
retary has  a  fad,  and  that's  his.  Ours  has  an  aero- 
plane. He  practises  on  it  nearly  every  day  on  the 
parade-ground.  The  pudgy  woman  in  the  other 
corner  with  a  cockaboo  in  her  hat  is  Mrs.  Sturgis, 
the  wife  of  the  big  exporter.  She  wears  red  French 
heels  and  calls  her  husband  'papa'." 

Barbara's  laughter  was  infectious.  It  caught  the 
bishop.  It  reflected  itself  even  on  the  demure  face 
of  the  Japanese  girl,  and  the  serious  youths  opposite 
giggled  openly  in  sympathy. 

"I  do  envy  you  your  first  impressions!"  ex- 
claimed Patricia.  "I've  been  here  so  long  that  I've 
forgotten  mine.  It  seems  perfectly  natural  now  for 
people  to  live  in  houses  made  of  bird-cages  and  paper 
napkins,  and  travel  about  in  grown-up  baby-buggies, 
and  to  see  men  walking  around  with  bare  legs  and 
oil-skin  umbrellas.  It's  like  the  sea-shore  at  home,  I 
suppose — you  get  used  to  it." 

The  train  had  stopped  at  a  suburb  and  guards 
went  by  proclaiming  its  name  in  a  musical  guttural, 
their  voices  dwelling  insistently  on  the  long-drawn, 
last  syllable.  The  next  carriage  was  a  third-class 
one  with  bare  floors  and  wooden  benches,  set  cross- 
wise. Through  the  opened  door  Barbara  could  see 
its  crowd  of  brown  faces,  keen  and  saturnine.  On 

36 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  GODS 

its  front  seat  a  heavy-featured,  lumpish  coolie 
woman  was  nursing  a  three-year-old  baby,  holding 
it  to  her  bared  breast  with  red  and  roughened 
hands.  Just  outside  the  station's  white-washed 
fence,  a  clump  of  factory  chimneys  spouted  pitchy 
smoke  into  the  dimming  sky,  and  the  descending 
sun  glistened  from  a  monster  gas-tank.  Farther 
away,  beyond  clipped  hedges,  lay  thatched  roofs, 
looking  as  soft  as  mole-skin,  with  wild  flowers 
growing  on  the  ridges,  and  bamboo  clumps  soar- 
ing above  them,  like  pale  green  ostrich- feathers 
yellow  at  the  tips.  Through  the  open  window  came 
the  treble  note  of  a  girl  singing. 

A  man  passed  hastily  through  the  carriage  leav- 
ing a  trail  of  small  pamphlets  bound  in  green  paper 
with  gold  lettering — an  advertisement  of  a  health 
resort,  printed  in  English  for  the  tourist.  Barbara 
opened  one  curiously.  She  looked  up  with  a  merry 
eye. 

"Here's  a  paragraph  for  you,  Uncle  Arthur,"  she 
said.  "Listen : 

"  This  place  has  other  modern  monuments,  first 
and  second-class  hotels  and  many  sea-scapes.  In 
one  quarter  are  a  number  of  missionaries,  but  they 
can  easily  be  avoided.' ' 

"Do  let  us  credit  that  to  difficulties  of  the  lan- 
guage," he  protested.  "I'm  sure  that  must  have 
been  meant  complimentarily." 

37 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"But  what  a  contradiction!"  put  in  Patricia 
wickedly. 

"Well,"  he  retorted.  "My  baker  has  a  sign  on 
his  wagon,  'The  biggest  loafer  in  Tokyo.'  He 
means  that  well,  too." 

A  shrill  whistle,  a  slamming  of  doors,  and  now 
the  gray  roofs  fell  away.  On  one  side  the  steel 
road  all  but  dipped  in  the  bay.  Wild  ducks  drew 
startled  wakes  across  the  rippleless  lagoon.  On  a 
sand-bar  a  flock  of  gray  and  white  gulls  disported, 
looking  at  a  distance  like  pied  bathers ;  and  about  an 
anchored  fishing  boat,  a  dozen  naked  urchins  were 
splashing  with  shrill  cries.  Far  across  the  inlet, 
hazy,  vapory,  visionary,  Barbara  could  make  out  a 
farther  shore,  an  outline  in  violets  and  opalines, 
coifed  with  lilac  cloud,  and  in  the  mid-azure  a  high- 
pooped  junk  swam  by,  a  shape  of  misty  gold,  palely 
drawn  in  wan,  blue  light. 

On  the  other  side  the  train  was  rounding  grassy 
hills,  terraced  to  the  very  tops.  Laid  against  their 
steep  sides,  or  standing  upright  on  wooden  frame- 
work, were  occasional  huge  advertisements  in  red 
or  white — Chinese  characters  or  pictures — while 
flowering  camelia  trees  and  small  green-yellow 
shrubs  drew  lengthening  blue  shadows.  A  high 
tressle  spanned  acres  of  orchard  where  continuous 
trellis  made  a  carpet  of  growing  fruit,  across  which 
Barbara  saw  far  away  the  bold  outline  of  bluish 
hills. 

38 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  GODS 

They  were  crossing  flooded  rice-fields  now,  like 
gigantic    crazy    checker-boards,    and   the    air   was 
musical   with   the  low,   chirring  chorus  of   frogs. 
Shades  of  orange  light  played  over  the  marshes, 
bars  of  rape  braided  them  with  vivid  yellow,  and  on 
the  narrow,   curving  partitions  between   the  bur- 
nished  squares,    round   stacks   pf   garnered   straw 
stood  like  crawfish  chimneys.    Amid  them  peasants 
worked  with  broad-bladed  mattocks,  knee-deep  in 
mud.    They  were  blue  clad,  with  white  cloths  bound 
about  their  heads,  and  some  had  sashes  of  crimson. 
Here  and  there,  naked  to  the  thighs,  a  boy  trod  a 
water-wheel  between  the  terraced  levels.    At  inter- 
vals a  refractory  rock-hillock  served  as  excuse  for  a 
single  twisted  pine-tree  shading  a  carved  tablet  to 
some  Shinto  divinity,  or  a  steep  bluff  sheltered  a 
tiny  shrine  of  unpainted  wood;  and  all  along  the 
way,  shining  canals  drew  silver  ribbons  through  the 
paddy-fields,  and  little  arrowy  flights  of  birds  darted 
hither  and  thither. 

Occasionally  they  passed  small,  neat  stations, 
each  with  its  white  sign-boards  bearing  long  liquid 
names  in  English,  and  queer  Japanese  characters. 
Opposite  one,  on  a  sloping  hill  that  was  a  mass  of 
deep  glowing  green,  Patricia  pointed  out  the  peaked 
roofs  of  a  cluster  of  temples,  the  shrine  of  some  cen- 
tury-dead Buddhist  saint.  Barbara  began  to  realize 
that  these  fields  through  which  tl?is  modern  train 
was  gliding  were  old  Japan,  that  in  those  blue  hills 

39 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

had  been  nurtured  the  ancient  legends  she  had  read, 
of  famous  two-sworded  samurai,  of  swaggering 
bandits  and  pleasure-loving  shogun,  and  of  tea- 
house geisha  who  danced  their  way  into  daimyo's 
palaces.  The  spell  of  the  land,  whose  sheer  beauty 
had  thrilled  her  on  the  ship,  drew  her  closer  with 
the  threads  of  memories  almost  forgotten. 

Its  contrasts  were  wonderful.  They  spoke  of 
primary  and  unmixed  emotions,  that  lisped  them- 
selves through  the  fading  golden  sunlight,  the 
moist,  dreamy  air,  the  graceful  outlines  of  roof  and 
tree.  In  the  west  the  sun  was  declining  toward  a 
range  of  hills  jagged  as  the  teeth  of  a  bear.  Their 
tops  were  pale  as  cloud  and  their  bases  melted  into 
an  ebony  line  of  forest.  The  plain  below  was  a 
winey  purple,  with  slashes  of  red  earth  gorges  like 
fresh  wounds,  and  one  side  had  the  cloudy  color  of 
raspberries  crushed  in  curdled  milk.  The  farther 
range  seemed  a  part  of  a  far-off  painted  curtain, 
tinted  in  pastelles,  and  high  above  a  milky  cloud 
floated,  curling  like  a  lace  scarf  about  the  opal  crest 
of  Fuji,  mysteriously  blue  and  dim  as  an  Arctic 
summer  sea. 

Barbara  glimpsed  it,  the  very  spirit  of  beauty,  be- 
tween the  whirling  shadows  of  pine  and  camphor 
trees,  between  tiled  walls  guarding  thatched  tem- 
ples, flights  of  gray  pigeons  and  spurts  of  pink 
cherry-blossom.  As  she  leaned  out,  and  the  pines 
bowed  rhythmically,  and  the  water-wheels  turned 

40 


THE  LAND  OF  THE  GODS 

in  the  furrows,  and  the  yellow-green  of  the  bamboo, 
the  purple-indigo  of  the  hills  and  the  golden-pink 
of  the  cherries  lifting,  above  the  hedges,  went  by 
like  raveling  skeins  of  a  tapestry — that  majestic 
Presence,  ghostly  and  splendid  above  the  wild  con- 
tour of  hill  and  mountain,  seemed  to  call  to  her. 

And  across  the  gorgeous  landscape,  rejoicing 
from  every  rift  and  crevice  of  its  moist  soil,  in  its 
colors  of  rich  red  earth  and  green  foliage,  in  the 
grace  and  vigor  of  its  springing,  resilient  bamboo 
groves  and  the  cardinal  pride  of  its  flowering 
camelias,  Barbara's  heart  answered  the  call. 


CHAPTER    IV 

UNDER    THE   RED   SUNSET 

THE  slowing  of  the  train  awoke  Barbara  from 
her  reverie.  The  three  boy  students  got  out, 
casting  sidelong  glances  at  her.  More  Jap- 
anese entered,  and  two  foreigners — a  bright-faced 
girl  on  the  arm  of  a  keen-eyed,  soldierly  man  with 
bristling  white  hair,  a  mustache  like  a  walrus,  and 
a  military  button.  The  girl's  hands  were  full  of 
cherry-branches,  whose  bunches  of  double  blossoms, 
incredibly  thick  and  heavy,  filled  the  car  with  a  deli- 
cate fragrance.  The  bishop  folded  his  newspaper 
and  put  it  into  his  pocket. 

As  he  did  so  the  owner  of  the  expansive  waist- 
coat leaned  across  the  aisle  and  addressed  him. 

"Say,  my  friend,"  he  said,  "you've  lived  out 
here  some  time,  I  understand." 

"Yes,"  the  bishop  replied.     "Twenty-five  years." 

"Well,  I  take  it,  then,  you  ought  to  know  this 
country  right  down  to  the  ground;  and  if  you  don't 
mind,  I'd  like  to  ask  a  question  or  two." 

"Do,"  said  the  bishop.  "I'll  be  glad  to  answer 
if  I  can." 

42 


UNDER  THE  RED  SUNSET 

The  other  got  up  and  took  a  seat  opposite.  "You 
see,"  he  pursued  confidentially,  "I  came  on  this 
trip  just  for  a  rest  and  to  settle  the  bills  for  the 
curios  my  wife" — he  indicated  the  lady,  who  had 
now  moved  up  beside  him  —  "thinks  she'd  like  to 
look  at  back  home.  But  I've  been  getting  interested 
by  the  minute.  It's  quite  some  time  since  I  went  to 
school,  and  I  guess  there  hadn't  so  much  happened 
then  to  Japan.  I  wish  you'd  run  down  the  scale  for 
me — just  to  hit  the  high  places.  Now  there  was  a 
big  rumpus  here,  I  remember,  at  the  time  of  our 
Civil  War.  They  chose  a  new  Emperor,  didn't 
they?" 

"No.  The  dynasty  has  been  unbroken  for  two 
thousand  years." 

"Two  thousand  years!"  cried  the  lady.  "Why, 
that's  before  Christ !" 

"When  our  ancestors,  Martha,  were  painting 
themselves  up  in  yellow  ochre  and  carrying  clubs — 
what  was  the  row  about,  then?" 

"It  was  something  like  this.  To  go  back  a  little, 
the  Emperor  was  always  the  nominal  ruler  and 
spiritual  head,  but  the  temporal  power  was  admin- 
istered by  a  self-decreed  Viceroy  called  the  shogun. 
Japan  was  a  closed  country  and  only  a  little  trading 
was  allowed  in  certain  ports." 

His  questioner  nodded.  The  girl  beside  the  white- 
haired  old  soldier  had  touched  the  latter's  sleeve, 
and  both  were  listening  attentively.  "Then  Perry 

43 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

came  along  and  kicked  open  the  gate.  Bombarded 
'em,  didn't  he?" 

The  bishop's  eyes  twinkled.  "Only  with  gifts. 
He  brought  a  small  printing-press,  a  toy  telegraph 
line  and  a  miniature  locomotive  and  railroad  track. 
He  set  up  these  on  the  beach  and  showed  the  officials 
whom  the  shogun's  government  sent  to  treat  with 
him,  how  they  worked.  In  the  end  he  made  them 
understand  the  immense  value  of  the  scientific  ad- 
vancement of  the  western  world.  The  visit  was  an 
eye-opener,  and  the  wiser  Japanese  realized  that  the 
nation  couldn't  exist  under  the  old  regime  any 
longer.  It  must  make  general  treaties  and  adopt 
new  ideas.  Some,  on  the  other  hand,  wanted  things 
to  stay  as  they  were." 

"Pulling  both  ways,  eh?" 

"Yes.  At  length  the  progressists  decided  on  a 
sweeping  measure.  Under  the  shogunate,  the 
daimyos  (they  were  the  great  landed  nobles)  had 
been  in  a  continual  state  of  suppressed  insur- 
rection." 

"Some  wouldn't  knuckle  down  to  the  shogun,  I 
suppose." 

"Exactly.  There  was  no  national  rallying-point. 
But  they  all  alike  revered  their  Emperor.  In  all  the 
bloody  civil  wars  of  a  thousand  years  —  and  the 
Japanese  were  always  fighting,  like  Europe  in  the 
Middle  Ages — no  shogun  ever  laid  violent  hands 
on  the  Emperor.  He  was  half  divine,  you  see, 

44 


UNDER  THE  RED  SUNSET 

descended  from  the  ancient  gods,  a  living  link  be- 
tween them  and  modern  men.  So  now  they  pro- 
posed to  give  him  complete  temporal  power,  make 
him  ruler  in  fact,  and  abolish  the  shogunate  en- 
tirely." 

"Phew !  And  the  big  daimyos  came  into  line  on 
the  proposition  ?" 

"They  poured  out  their  blood  and  their  money 
like  water  for  the  new  cause.  The  shogun  himself 
voluntarily  relinquished  his  power  and  retired  to  pri- 
vate life." 

"Splendid !"  said  the  stranger,  and  the  girl  clapped 
her  gloved  hands.  "So  that  was  the  'Restoration,' 
the  beginning  of  Meiji,  whatever  that  may  mean?" 

"The  'Era  of  Enlightenment.'  The  present  Em- 
peror, Mutsuhito,  was  a  boy  of  sixteen  then.  They 
brought  him  here  to  Yedo,  and  renamed  it 
Tokyo " 

"And  proceeded  to  get  reeling  drunk  on  western 
notions,"  said  the  man  with  the  military  button, 
smiling  grimly.  "I  was  out  here  in  the  Seventies." 

"True,  sir,"  assented  the  bishop.  "It  was  so,  for 
a  time.  And  the  opposition  took  refuge  in  riot, 
assassination,  and  suicide.  But  gradually  Japan 
worked  the  modernization  scheme  out.  She  sent  her 
young  statesmen  to  Europe  and  America  to  study 
western  systems  of  education,  jurisprudence  and 
art.  She  hired  an  army  of  experts  from  all  over  the 
world.  She  sent  her  cleverest  lads  to  foreign  uni- 

45 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

versities.  In  the  end  she  chose  what  seemed  to  her 
the  best  from  all.  Her  military  ideas  come  from 
Germany  and  her  railroad  cars  from  the  town  of 
Pullman,  Illinois.  When  the  best  didn't  suit  her, 
she  invented  a  system  of  her  own,  as  she  has  done 
with  wireless  telegraphy." 

"So!"  said  the  other.  "I'm  greatly  obliged  to 
you,  sir.  I've  read  plenty  in  the  newspapers,  but  I 
never  had  it  put  so  plain.  It  strikes  me,"  he  added 
to  the  old  soldier,  "that  a  nation  plucky  enough  to 
do  this  in  fifty  years,  in  fifty  more  will  make  some 
other  nations  get  a  move  on."  He  brought  a  big  fist 
smashing  down  in  an  open  palm.  "And,  by  gad! 
the  Japanese  deserve  all  they  get!  When  we  go 
back  I  guess  me  and  Martha  won't  march  in  any 
anti-Jap  torch-light  processions,  anyway !" 

The  fields  were  gone  now.  The  train  was  rum- 
bling along  a  canal  teeming  with  laden  sampan, 
level  with  the  paper  shoji  of  frail-looking  houses  on 
its  opposite  bank.  Beyond  lay  a  sea  of  roofs,  swell- 
ing gray  billows  of  tiling  spotted  with  green  foam, 
from  which  steel  factory  chimneys  lifted  like  the 
black  masts  of  sunken  ships.  A  leafy  hill  of  crypto- 
meria  rose  near-by,  and  an  octagonal  stone  tower 
peeped  above  its  foliage.  Crows  were  circling  about 
it,  black  dots  against  the  bronze.  The  train  was 
entering  Tokyo. 

A  door  slammed  sharply.  From  the  forward 
smoking  carriage  a  man  had  entered.  He  was  an 

46 


UNDER  THE  RED  SUNSET 

European  and  Barbara  was  struck  at  once  by  his 
great  size  and  the  absence  of  color  in  his  leaden  face. 
The  bored-looking  diplomatist  in  the  corner  gath- 
ered himself  hastily  into  a  bow,  which  the  other  ac- 
knowledged abstractedly.  Seemingly  he  had  been 
occupied  in  some  intent  speculation  which  spread  a 
kind  of  glaze  over  his  sharp  features.  A  book 
drooped  carelessly  from  his  heavy  fingers. 

"That  is  Doctor  Bersonin,"  said  the  bishop,  as  the 
girls  collected  their  wraps.  "He  came  just  before 
I  left,  last  fall.  He  is  the  government  expert,  and 
is  supposed  to  be  one  of  the  greatest  living  author- 
ities on  explosives." 

"Oh,  yes,"  said  Patricia,  "I  know.  He  invented 
a  dynamo  or  a  torpedo,  or  something.  I  saw  him 
once  at  a  reception;  he  had  a  foreign  decoration  as 
big  as  a  dinner-plate." 

The  big  man  made  his  way  slowly  along  the  aisle 
and,  still  absorbed,  took  a  dust-coat  from  a  rack. 
As  he  ponderously  drew  it  on,  the  daylight  was 
suddenly  eclipsed,  and  the  rumbling  reechoed  from 
metal  roofing.  They  were  in  Shimbashi  Station. 

"Isn't  he  simply  odious!"  whispered  Patricia,  as 
the  expert  stepped  before  them  on  to  the  long, 
dusky,  asphalt  platform.  "His  eyes  are  like  a  cat's 
and  his  hands  look  as  if  they  wanted  to  crawl,  like 
big  white  spiders !  There  is  the  Embassy  betto"  she 
said  suddenly,  pointing  over  the  turnstile,  where 
stood  a  Japanese  boy  in  a  wide-winged  kimono  of 

47 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

tea-colored  pongee  with  crimson  facings  and  a  crim- 
son mushroom  hat.  "The  carriage  is  just  outside. 
You'll  come,  too,  of  course,  Bishop,"  she  added. 
"Father  will  expect  you." 

He  shook  his  head  and  motioned  toward  a  dense 
assemblage  comprising  a  half  dozen  of  his  own  race 
in  clerical  black,  and  a  half  hundred  kimono'd 
Japanese,  whose  faces  seemed  one  composite  smile 
of  welcome.  "There  is  a  part  of  my  flock,"  he  said. 
"There  will  be  a  jubilation  at  my  bachelor  palace 
to-night.  I  shall  see  you  to-morrow,  I  hope." 

They  watched  him  for  a  moment,  the  center  of  a 
ceremonious  ring  of  bowing  figures,  then  passed 
through  the  station  to  the  steps  where  the  carriage 
waited. 

The  station  debouched  on  to  a  broad  open  square 
bordered  with  canals  and  lined  with  ranks  of  rick'- 
sha,  some  of  which  had  small  red  flags  with  the 
name  of  a  hotel  in  white  letters,  in  English.  The 
space  was  gray  and  dusty ;  pedestrians  dotted  it  and 
across  it  a  bent  and  sweating  street-sprinkler  hauled 
his  ugly  trickling  cart,  chanting  in  a  half-tone  as  he 
went.  A  little  distance  away  Barbara  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  busy  paved  street,  lined  with  ambitious 
glass  shop-fronts  and  with  a  double  line  of  clanging 
trolley-cars  passing  to  and  fro  beneath  a  maze  of  tel- 
egraph wires  seemingly  as  fine  as  pack-thread.  Her 
nostrils  twitched  with  strange  odors — from  stagnant 
moats  of  sticky,  black  mud,  from  panniers  of  dressed 

48 


UNDER  THE  RED  SUNSET 

fish,  from  the  rice-powder  and  pomade  of  women's 
toilets — all  the  scents  bred  in  swarming  streets  by 
a  glowing  tropic  sun. 

At  one  side  waited  a  handful  of  foreign  carriages. 
All  the  drivers  of  these  wore  the  loose,  flapping 
liveries  and  the  round  hats  of  green  or  crimson  or 
blue.  "  They  are  Embassy  turn-outs,"  explained 
Patricia.  "Each  one  has  its  color,  you  see.  Ours 
is  red  and  you  can  see  it  farthest."  As  they  took 
their  seats  an  open  victoria  rolled  up,  with  cobalt- 
blue  wheels,  and  a  betto  with  a  kimono  of  dark  cloth 
trimmed  with  wide  strips  of  the  same  hue  ran  ahead, 
clearing  the  way  with  raucous  cries.  "There  goes  the 
Bulgarian  Minister's  wife,"  said  Patricia.  "She's 
got  the  finest  pearls  in  Tokyo." 

A  hundred  yards  from  the  entrance  the  Embassy 
carriage  halted  abruptly  and  Barbara  caught  her 
companion's  arm  with  a  low  exclamation.  At  the 
side  of  the  square,  seated  or  reclining  on  the  ground 
was  a  body  of  perhaps  eighty  men  dressed  in  a 
deadly  brownish-yellow,  the  hue  of  iron-rust,  with 
coarse  hats  and  rough  straw  sandals.  They  were 
disposed  in  lines,  a  handcuff  was  on  each  left  wrist, 
and  a  thin,  rattling  iron  chain  linked  all  together. 

"They  are  convicts,"  said  Patricia ;  "on  their  way 
to  the  copper  mines,  I  imagine.  They  will  move 
presently  and  we  can  pass." 

At  the  head  of  the  melancholy  platoon  stood  an 
officer  in  dark  blue  cloth  uniform  and  clumsy  shoes, 

49 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

a  sword  by  his  side.  He  stood  motionless  as  an 
idol,  his  sparse  mustaches  waxed,  his  visored  cap 
set  square  on  his  crisp,  black  hair,  his  bronze  face 
impassive.  The  prisoners  looked  on  stolidly  at  the 
stir  of  the  station,  the  flying  rick'sha,  the  crowded 
sampan  in  the  canal,  and  the  noisy  trolley-cars  pass- 
ing near-by.  Some  talked  in  low  tones  and  pointed 
here  and  there,  with  furtive  glances  at  the  officer. 
Barbara  noted  their  different  expressions,  some 
stolid,  low-browed  and  featureless,  some  with  side- 
looks  of  sharper  cunning,  all  touched  with  oriental 
apathy. 

A  bell  now  began  to  clamor  in  the  train-shed  and 
there  came  the  rasping  hoot  of  an  engine.  The 
officer  turned,  gave  a  sharp  order,  and  the  pris- 
oners rose,  with  light  clanking  of  their  chains.  An- 
other order,  and  they  moved,  in  double  lines  of 
single  file,  into  the  station. 

Patricia  heaved  a  sigh  of  relief  as  the  halted 
traffic  started.  "Hyaku,  Tucker,"  she  called  to  the 
driver.  "Hyaku  means  quickly,"  she  explained  aside. 
"His  name  is  Taka,  but  I  call  him  Tucker  because 
it's  easier  to  remember." 

As  they  rolled  swiftly  on,  through  the  wondrous 
panorama  of  teeming  Tokyo  streets,  the  sun  hung, 
an  elongated  globe  of  deep  orange-crimson,  streaked 
with  little  whips  of  rosy  cloud.  Beneath  it  the 
mountains  lay  like  coiled,  purple  dragons,  indolent 
and  surfeited.  One  star  twinkled  palely  in  the 

50 


UNDER  THE  RED  SUNSET 

lemon-colored  sky.  Yet  now  to  Barbara  the  splen- 
dor of  color  seemed  tragic,  the  poured-out  beauty 
but  a  veil,  behind  which  moved,  old  and  apish  and 
gray,  the  familiar  passions  of  the  world.  Before 
her  eyes  were  flowing  and  mingling  a  thousand 
strands  of  orient  life,  yet  she  saw  only  the  red  light 
glowing  on  the  stone  entrance  of  Shimbashi,  with 
those  hideous  saffron  jackets  filing  perpetually  into 
its  yawning  mouth,  like  unholy  spectres  in  a  dream. 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  MAKER  OF  BUDDHAS 

THE  setting  sun  poured  a  flood  of  wine-col- 
ored   light   over   Reinanzaka — the   "Hill-of- 
•the-Spirit" — whose   long  slope   rose  behind 
the   American    Embassy,    whither   the    Dandridge 
victoria  was  rolling.    It  was  a  long  leafy  ridge  stip- 
pled with  drab  walls  of  noble  Japanese  houses,  and 
striped  with  narrow  streets  of  the  humble;  one  of 
the  many  green  knolls  that,  rising  above  the  gray 
roofs,  make  the  Japanese  capital  seem  an  endless 
succession  of  teeming  village  and  restful  grove. 

Along  its  crest  ran  a  lane  bordered  with  thorn 
hedges.  A  little  way  inside  this  stood  a  huge  stone 
torn,  facing  a  square,  ornamented  gateway,  shaded 
by  cryptomerias.  The  latter  was  heavily  but  chaste- 
ly carved,  and  on  its  ceiling  was  a  painting,  in 
green  and  white  on  a  gold-leaf  ground,  of  Kwan-on, 
the  All-Pitying.  From  the  gate  one  looked  down 
across  the  declivity,  where  in  a  walled  compound, 
the  rambling  buildings  of  the  Embassy  showed  pal- 
lidly amid  green  foliage.  Beyond  this  were  sections 
of  trafficking  streets,  and  still  farther  a  narrow, 
white  road  climbed  a  hill  toward  a  military  bar- 
racks— a  blur  of  dull,  terra-cotta  red.  In  the  dying 
afternoon  the  lane  had  an  air  of  placid  aloof- 

52 


THE  MAKER  OF  BUDDHAS 

ness.  Somewhere  in  a  thoroughfare  below  a  trolley 
bell  sounded,  an  impudent  note  of  haste  and  change 
in  a  symphony  of  the  intransmutable.  Over  all  was 
the  scent  of  cherry-blossoms  and  a  faint  musk-like 
odor  of  incense. 

From  the  gate  a  mossy  pavement,  shaded  by 
sacred  mochi  trees,  led  to  a  Buddhist  temple-front  of 
the  Mon-to  sect,  before  which  a  flock  of  fluttering 
gray-and-white  pigeons  were  pecking  grains  of  rice 
scattered  by  a  priest,  who  stood  on  its  upper  step, 
watching  them  through  placid,  gold-rimmed  specta- 
cles. He  wore  a  long  green  robe,  a  stole  of  gold 
brocade  was  around  his  neck,  and  his  face  was 
seamed  with  the  lines  of  life's  receding  tides.  At  one 
side  of  the  pavement,  worn  and  grooved  by  centuries 
of  worshiping  feet,  was  a  square  stone  font  and  on 
the  other  side  a  graceful  bell-tower  of  red  lacquer. 
Back  of  this  stood  a  forest  of  tall  bronze  lanterns, 
and  beyond  them  a  graveyard,  an  acre  thick  with 
standing  stone  tablets  of  quaint,  squarish  shape,  chis- 
eled with  deep-cut  idiographs.  Nearer  the  grave- 
yard, overshadowed  by  the  greater  bulk  of  the  tem- 
ple, was  a  long,  low  nunnery,  with  clumps  of  flowers 
about  it.  Through  its  bamboo  lattices  one  caught 
glimpses  of  women's  figures,  clad  in  slate-color,  oi 
placid  faces  and  boyishly  shaven  heads.  About  the 
yard  a  few  little  children  were  playing  and  a  mother, 
with  a  baby  on  her  back,  looked  smilingly  on. 

The  space  where  the  priest  stood  was  connected 
53 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 


by  a  small,  curved,  elevated  bridge  with  another 
temple  structure  standing  on  the  right  of  the  yard, 
evidently  used  as  a  private  residence.  This  was 
more  ornate,  far  older  and  touched  with  decay.  Its 
porch  was  arcaded,  set  with  oval  windows  and  hung 
with  bronze  lanterns  green  from  age.  Its  entrance 
doors  were  beautifully  carved,  paneled  with  endless 
designs  in  dull  colors,  and  bordered  with  great  gold- 
lacquer  peonies  laid  on  a  background  of  green  and 
vermilion.  From  their  corners  jutted  snarling  heads 
of  grotesque  lions  and  on  either  side  stood  gigantic 
Ni-O  — •  glowering  demon-guardians  of  sacred 
thresholds.  Through  the  straight-boled  trees  that 
grew  close  about  it,  came  transient  gleams  of  a 
hedged  garden,  of  burnished  green  and  maroon  foli- 
age, where  cherry-blooms  hung  like  fluffy  balls  of 
pink  smoke.  The  garden  had  a  private  entrance — 
a  gate  in  the  outer  lane — and  over  this  was  a  small 
tablet  of  unpainted  wood : 


Which,  translated,  read 

ALOYSIUS  THORN 

Maker  of  Buddhas 


54 


THE  MAKER  OF  BUDDHAS 

Directly  opposite  stood  a  small  Christian  Chapel. 
It  was  newly  built  and  still  lacked  its  final  decoration 
— a  rose- window,  whose  empty  sashes  were  stopped 
now  with  black  cloth.  High  above  the  flowering 
green  its  slanting  roof  lifted  a  cross. 

It  rose,  white  and  pure,  emblem  of  the  Western 
faith  that  yet  had  been  born  in  the  East.  Over 
against  the  ornate  pageantry  of  Buddhist  architec- 
ture, in  a  land  of  another  creed,  of  variant  ideals 
and  a  passionate  devotion  to  them,  it  stood,  simple, 
silent,  and  watchful.  The  priest  on  the  temple  steps 
was  looking  at  the  white  cross,  regarding  it  medi- 
tatively, as  one  to  whom  concrete  symbols  are 
badges  of  spiritual  things. 

Footsteps  grated  on  the  gravel  and  the  occupant 
of  the  older  temple  came  slowly  through  its  garden. 
He  was  a  foreigner,  though  dressed  in  Japanese 
costume.  His  shoulders  were  broad  and  powerful 
and  he  moved  with  a  quickness  and  grace  in  step 
and  action  that  had  something  feline  in  it.  His  hair, 
worn  long,  was  black,  touched  with  gray,  and  a 
curved  mustache  hid  his  lips.  His  expression  was 
sensitively  delicate  and  alertly  odd — an  impression 
added  to  by  deeply-set  eyes,  one  of  which  was  visi- 
bly larger  than  the  other,  of  the  variety  known  as 
"pearl,"  slightly  bulbous,  though  liquid-brown  and 
heavily  lashed. 

The  new-comer  ascended  the  steps  and  stood  a 
moment  silently  beside  the  priest,  watching  the  glut- 

55 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

tonous  pigeons.  As  he  looked  up,  he  saw  the  oth- 
er's gaze  fixed  on  the  Chapel  cross.  A  quick  shiver 
ran  across  his  mobile  face,  and  passing,  left  it  hard 
with  a  kind  of  grim  defiance. 

Presently  the  priest  said  in  Japanese : 

"The  Christian  temple  across  the  way  honorably 
approaches  completion.  Assuredly,  however,  moths 
have  eaten  my  intelligence.  Why  does  the  gloomy 
hole  illustriously  elect  to  remain  in  its  wall  ?" 

"It  is  for  a  thing  they  call  a  'window',"  said 
Thorn.  "After  a  time  they  will  put  therein  an  au- 
gust abomination,  representing  sublimely  hideous 
cloud-born  beings  and  idiotic-looking  saints  in  col- 
ored glass." 

The  priest  nodded  his  shaven  head  sagely. 

"It  will,  perhaps,  deign  to  be  a  gaku  of  the  Chris- 
tian God.  I  shall,  with  deference,  study  it.  I  have 
watered  my  worthless  mind  with  much  arrogant 
reading  of  Him.  Doubtless  He  was  also  Buddha 
and  taught  The  Way." 

An  acolyte  had  come  from  the  temple  and  ap- 
proached the  red  bell-tower.  Midway  of  the  huge 
bronze  bell  a  heavy  cedar  beam,  like  a  catapult,  was 
suspended  from  two  chains.  He  swung  this  till  its 
muffled  end  struck  the  metal  rim,  and  the  air 
swelled  with  a  dreamy  sob  of  sound.  He  swung  it 
again,  and  the  sob  became  a  palpitant  moan,  like 
breakers  on  a  far-away  beach.  Again,  and  a  deep 

56 


THE  MAKER  OF  BUDDHAS 

velvety  boom  throbbed  through  the  stillness  like  the 
heart  of  eternity. 

"It  is  time  for  the  service,"  said  the  priest,  and 
turning,  went  into  the  temple,  from  whose  interior 
soon  came  the  woodeny  tapping  of  a  mok'gyo — the 
hollow  wooden  fish,  which  is  the  emblem  of  the 
Mon-to  sect — and  the  sound  of  chanting  voices. 

Thorn,  the  man  with  whom  the  priest  had  spoken, 
crossed  the  bridge  to  the  other  temple  with  a  slow 
step.  He  passed  between  the  scowling  guardian 
figures,  slid  back  a  paper  shoji  and  entered.  The 
room  in  which  he  stood  had  been  the  haiden,  or 
room  of  worship.  Around  its  walls  were  oblong 
carvings,  marvelously  lacquered,  of  the  nine  flow- 
ers and  nine  birds  of  old  Japanese  art.  In  one  were 
set  six  large  painted  panels;  the  red  seal  they  bore 
was  that  of  the  great  Cho  Densu,  the  Era  Angelico 
of  Japan.  In  its  center,  under  a  brocade  canopy, 
was  a  raised  platform  once  the  seat  of  the  High 
Priest.  It  faced  a  long  transept,  like  a  chancel ;  this 
ended  in  a  short  flight  of  steps  leading,  through 
doors  of  soft,  fretted  gold-lacquer,  to  a  huge  altar 
set  with  carved  tables,  great  tarnished  brasses  and 
garish  furniture.  The  walls  of  the  transept  were 
done  in  red  with  green  ornamentations.  From  the 
overhead  gloom  grotesque  phoenix  and  dragon 
peered  down  and  in  the  gathering  dimness,  shot 

57 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

through  with  the  wan  yellow  gleam  of  brass,  the 
place  seemed  uncanny. 

Thorn  drew  back  a  heavy  drapery  which  covered 
a  doorway,  and  entered  a  room  that  was  window- 
less  and  very  dark.  He  lit  a  candle. 

The  dim  light  it  furnished  disclosed  a  weird  and 
silent  assembly.  The  space  was  crowded  with 
strange  glimmering  deities — of  bronze,  of  silver,  of 
priceless  gold-lacquer — the  dust  thick  on  their 
faces,  their  aureoles  misty  with  cobwebs.  Some 
gazed  with  passionless  serenity,  or  blessed  with  out- 
stretched hand;  some  threatened  with  scowling 
faces  and  clenched  thunderbolts :  Jizo  of  the  ten- 
der smile,  in  whose  sleeves  nestle  the  souls  of  dead 
children;  Kwan-on,  of  divine  compassion,  with  her 
many  hands;  Emma-dai-O,  Judge  of  the  Dead, 
menacing  and  terrible;  strange  sardonic  tengu, 
half-bird,  half-human.  The  floor  was  thick  with 
them.  From  shelves  on  the  walls  leered  swollen, 
frog-like  horrors  such  as  often  appear  on  Alaskan 
totem-poles,  triple-headed  divinities  of  India  and 
China,  coiled  cobras,  idols  from  Ceylon,  and  curious 
Thibetan  praying-wheels.  A  sloping  stairway 
slanted  through  the  gloom;  beside  it  was  an  image 
of  the  red  god,  Aizen  Bosatsu,  his  appalling  coun- 
tenance framed  in  lurid  flames,  seated  on  a  fiery 
lotos. 

The  master  of  this  celestial  and  infernal  pan- 
theon closed  and  locked  the  door,  and  mounted  the 

58 


THE  MAKER  OF  BUDDHAS 

stairway  to  the  loft — a  low,  rambling  room  of  ec- 
centric shape,  under  the  curving  gables. 

Here,  through  a  long  window  beneath  the  very 
eaves,  the  light  still  came  brightly.  In  the  center 
was  a  board  table,  littered  with  delicate  carving- 
tools.  He  kindled  the  charcoal  in  a  bronze  hibachi, 
and  set  over  it  a  copper  pot  which  began  to  emit  a 
thick,  weedy  odor.  From  a  cabinet  he  took  phials 
containing  various  powders,  and  measured  into  the 
pot  a  portion  from  each.  Lastly  he  added  a  quantity 
of  gold-leaf,  slowly,  flake  by  flake.  At  one  side  a 
white  silk  cloth  was  draped  over  a  pedestal ;  he  drew 
this  away  and  looked  at  the  unfinished  figure  it  had 
concealed.  It  was  an  image  of  Kwan-on,  the  All- 
Merciful. 

Through  the  open  window  the  chant  of  the 
priests  came  clearly : 

"Waku  hyoryu  kokai 
Ryugyo  Shokinan 
Nembi  Kwan-on  riki 
Hard  furiomotsu" 

(He  who  is  beset  with  perils  of  dragon 
and  great  fish — who  drifts  on  an  endless 
sea — if  he  offer  petition  to  Kwan-on, 
waves  will  not  destroy  him.) 

Thorn  crossed  the  room  and  leaning  his  elbows 
on  the  window-ledge,  looked  out.  Through  the 
odor  of  incense  the  monotonous  intonation  of  the 

59 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

liturgy    rose   with   the   grandeur   of   a   Gregorian 
chant : 

"Shu jo  kikon-yaku 

Muryoku  hisshin 

Kwan-on  myochiriki 

Noku  sekcnku." 

(He  who  is  in  distress — when  immeas- 
urable suffering  presses  on  him — Kwan- 
on,  all-wise  and  all-powerful,  can  save 
him  from  the  world's  calamity.) 

Once,  while  the  quiet  yard  echoed  back  the  slow 
cadences  of  the  antique  tongue,  the  watcher's  eyes 
turned  to  the  image  on  the  pedestal,  then  came  back 
to  an  object  that  drew  them — had  drawn  them  for 
many  days  against  his  will ! — the  white  cross  of  the 
Chapel.  A  last  glow  of  refracted  light  touched  it 
now,  as  red  as  blood,  a  symbol  of  the  infinite  passion 
and  pain.  A  long  time  he  stood  there.  The  twilight 
deepened,  the  chant  ceased,  lights  sprang  up  along 
the  lane,  night  fell  with  its  sickle  moon  and  crowding 
stars,  but  still  he  stood,  his  face  between  his  hands. 

At  length  he  turned,  and  groping  for  the  cloth, 
threw  it  over  the  Kwan-on  and  lit  a  lamp  swinging 
from  a  huge  brass  censer.  Unlocking  an  alcove,  he 
took  out  a  fleece- wrapped  bundle  and  sweeping  the 
tools  to  one  side,  set  it  on  the  table.  He  carefully 
closed  the  window  and  thrust  a  bar  through  the 
staple  of  the  door  before  he  unwrapped  it. 

When  the  fleece  was  removed,  he  propped  the 
60 


THE  MAKER  OF  BUDDHAS 

image  it  had  contained  upright  on  the  table.  He 
poured  into  a  shallow  plate  a  few  drops  of  the  liquid 
heating  over  the  fire-bowl — tinder  the  lamplight  it 
gleamed  and  sparkled  like  molten  gold — and  with 
a  small  brush,  using  infinite  care,  began  to  lay  the 
lacquer  on  its  carven  surface. 

Once,  at  a  sound  in  some  room  below — perhaps 
the  movement  of  a  servant — he  stopped  and  listened 
intently.  It  was  as  if  he  worked  by  stealth,  at  some 
labor  self-forbidden,  to  which  an  impulse,  overmas- 
tering though  half-denied,  drove  him  in  secret. 

It  was  a  crucifix  with  a  dead  Christ  upon  it. 


61 


THE   BAYIXG  OF  THE   WOLF-HOUXD 

BARBARA  stood  in  her  room  at  the  Embassy. 
It  was  spacious  and  airy,  the  high  walls 
paneled  in  ivory-white,  with  draperies  of 
Delft  blue.  The  bed  and  dressing-table  were 
early  Adams.  A  generous  bay-window  set  with 
flower-boxes  filled  a  large  part  of  one  side,  and  its 
deep  seat  was  upholstered  in  blue  crepe,  the  tint  of 
the  draperies,  printed  with  large  white  chrysanthe- 
mums. The  floor  was  laid  with  thin  matting  of 
rice-straw  in  which  was  braided  at  intervals  a  con- 
ventional pattern  in  old-rose.  Opposite  the  bay- 
window  stood  a  Sendai  chest  on  which  was  a  small 
Japanese  Buddha  of  gold-lacquer,  Amida,  the 
Dweller-in-Light,  seated  in  holy  meditation  on  his 
lotos-blossom.  At  first  sight  this  had  recalled  to 
Barbara  a  counterpart  image  which  she  had  un- 
earthed in  a  dark  corner  of  the  garret  in  her  pinafore 
days,  and  which  for  a  week  had  been  her  dearest 
possession. 

To  this  room  Mrs.  Dandridge  herself  had  taken 
her,  presenting  to  her  Haru.  whom  the  bishop's 
note  had  brought — a  vivid,  eager  figure  from  a 

62 


THE  WOLF-HOUND 

Japanese  fan,  who  had  sunk  suddenly  prone,  every 
line  of  her  slender  form  bowed,  hands  palm-down 
on  the  floor  and  forehead  on  them,  in  a  ceremo- 
nious welcome  to  the  foreign  0 jo-San.  Her  mauve 
kimono  was  woven  with  camelias  in  silver,  set  off  by 
an  obi,  showing  a  flight  of  storks  on  a  blue  back- 
ground and  clasped  in  front  with  a  silver  firefly. 
The  heavy  jet  hair  was  rolled  into  wings  on  either 
side,  and  a  high  puff  surmounted  her  forehead.  Thin 
twin  spirals,  stiff  with  pomade,  joined  at  the  back 
like  the  pinions  of  a  butterfly,  and  against  the  blue- 
black  loops  lay  a  bright  knot  of  ribbon.  She  was 
now  moving  about  the  room  with  silent  padding  of 
light  feet  in  snowy,  digitated  tabi,  admiring  the 
gowns  which  the  maid  had  taken  from  Barbara's 
trunks.  Occasionally  she  passed  a  slim  hand  up  and 
down  a  soft  wrap  with  a  graceful,  purring  regard, 
or  held  a  fleecy  boa  under  her  small  oval  chin  and 
stole  a  glance  in  the  cheval  glass  with  a  little  ecstatic 
quiver  of  shoulder.  Once  she  paused  to  look  at  the 
lacquer  image  on  the  Sendai  chest.  "Buddha,"  she 
said.  "JaPan  man  think  very  good  for  die-time." 

"Haru,"  said  Barbara  as  the  maid's  busy  Japanese 
fingers  went  searching  for  elusive  hooks  and  eyes, 
"is  it  true  that  every  Japanese  name  has  a  mean- 
ing?" 

"So,  0 jo-San!  That  mos'  indeed  true.  All  Japan 
name  mean  something.  'Haru'  mean  spring,  for  be- 
cause my  born  that  time.  Very  funny — ne?" 

63 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"It  is  very  pretty,"  said  Barbara. 

"How  tha's  nize!"  was  the  delighted  exclama- 
tion. "Mama-San  give  name.  My  like  name  yella- 
ways  for  because  mama-San  no  more  in  this  world. 
My  house  little  lonesome  now." 

"Where  is  your  house,  Haru?    Near  by?" 

The  slender  hand,  pointed  to  the  wooded  height 
behind  the  garden.  "Jus'  there  on  the  street  call 
Prayer-to-the-gods.  My  house  so-o-o  small,  an'  gar- 
den 'bout  such  big."  She  indicated  a  space  of  per- 
haps six  feet  square.  "Funny! — ne?" 

"And  who  lives  there  with  you  ?" 

Haru  smiled  brilliantly.  "Oh,  so-o-o  many  peo- 
ples !  Papa-San,  an' — jus'  me." 

"No  brother?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "My  don'  got,"  she  said. 
"Papa-San  very  angry  for  because  my  jus'  girl  an' 
no  could  be  kill  in  Port  Arthur!" 

She  spoke  with  a  smile,  but  the  matter-of-fact 
words  brought  suddenly  home  to  Barbara  some- 
thing of  the  flavor  of  that  passionate  loyalty,  that 
hot  heroism  and  debonair  contempt  of  death  which 
has  been  the  theme  of  a  hundred  stories.  "Do  all 
Japanese  feel  so,  Haru?"  she  asked.  "Would  every 
father  be  glad  to  give  his  son's  life  for  Japan?" 

The  girl  looked  at  her  as  if  she  jested.  "Of 
course!  All  Japan  man  mos'  happy  if  to  be  kill  for 
our  Emperor!  Tha's  for  why  better  to  be  man. 
Girl  jus'  can  stay  home  an'  wish!"  As  the  gown's 

64 


f 


THE  WOLF-HOUND 

last  fastening  was  slipped  into  its  place,  she  turned 
up  her  lovely  oval  face  with  a  smiling,  sidelong 
look. 

'"Ma-a-a!"  she  exclaimed.  "How  it  is  beau-tee- 
ful!  nc?  only— " 

"Only  what?" 

"My  thinks  the  O jo-San  must  suffer  through  the 
center!" 

Laughingly  Barbara  caught  the  other's  slim  wrist 
and  drew  her  before  the  mirror.  By  oriental  stand- 
ards the  Japanese  girl  was  as  finely  bred  as  herself. 
In  the  two  faces,  both  keenly  delicate  and  sensitive, 
yet  so  sharply  contrasted — one  palely  olive  under  its 
jetty  pillow  of  straight  black  hair,  the  other  fair  and 
brown-eyed,  crowned  with  curling  gold — the  ex- 
tremes of  East  and  West  looked  out  at  each  other. 

"See,  Haru,"  said  Barbara.  "How  different  we 
are!" 

"You  so  more  good-look!"  sighed  the  Japanese 
girl.  "My  jus'  like  the  night." 

"Ah,  but  a  moonlighted  night,"  cried  Barbara, 
"soft  and  warm  and  full  of  secrets.  When  you  have 
a  sweetheart  you  will  be  far  more  lovely  to  him 
than  any  foreign  girl  could  be !" 

Haru  blushed  rosily.  "Sweetheart  p'r'aps  now," 
she  said,  " — all  same  kind  America  story  say 
'bout." 

"Have  you  really,  Haru?"  cried  Barbara.  "I 
love  to  hear  about  sweethearts.  Maybe — some  day 

65 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

— I  may  have  one,  too.  Some  time  you'll  tell  me 
about  him.  Won't  you?" 

Suddenly,  far  below  the  window,  there  came  a 
snarling  scramble  and  a  savage,  menacing  bay.  Bar- 
bara leaned  out.  A  tawny,  long-muzzled  wolf- 
hound, fastened  to  a  stake,  glared  up  at  her  out  of 
red-dimmed  eyes. 

"Poor  fellow!"  she  exclaimed.  "He  looks  sick. 
Does  he  have  to  be  tied  up  ?" 

The  Japanese  girl  shivered.  "Very  bad  dog," 
she  said.  "My  think  very  danger  to  not  kill." 

The  deep  tone  of  the  dinner  gong  shuddered 
through  the  house  and  Barbara  hastened  out.  Pa- 
tricia met  her  in  the  hall  and  the  two  girls,  with 
arms  about  each  other's  waists,  descended  the 
broad  angled  stair  to  the  dining-room,  where  the 
Ambassador  stood,  tall  and  spare  and  iron-gray, 
with  a  contagious  twinkle  in  his  kindly  eye. 

"Well/*  he  asked,  "did  you  feel  the'earthquake  ?" 

Barbara  gave  an  exclamation  of  dismay.  "Has 
there  been  one  already  ?" 

"Pshaw!"  he  said  contritely.  "Perhaps  there 
hasn't.  You  see,  in  Japan,  -we  get  so  used  to  asking 
that  question — " 

"Now,  Ned !"  warned  Mrs.  Dandridge.  "You'll 
have  Barbara  frightened  to  death.  We  really  don't 
have  them  so  very  often,  my  dear — and  only  gentle 
shakes.  You  mustn't  be  dreaming  of  Messina." 

The  Ambassador  pointed  to  the  ceiling,  where  a 
66 


THE  WOLF-HOUND 

wide  crack  zigzagged  across.  "There's  a  recent  au- 
tograph to  bear  me  out.  It  happened  on  the  elev- 
enth of  last  month." 

"Father  remembers  the  date  because  of  the  horri- 
ble accident  it  caused,"  said  Patricia.  "A  piece  of 
the  kitchen  plaster  came  down  in  his  favorite  des- 
sert and  we  had  to  fall  back  on  pickled  plums. 

"I'm  simply  wild  to  see  your  gowns,  Barbara," 
she  continued,  as  they  took  their  places.  "Is  that  the 
latest  sleeve,  and  is  everything  going  to  be  slinky? 
We're  always  about  six  months  behind.  I  know  a 
girl  in  Yokohama  who  goes  to  every  steamer  and 
kodaks  the  smartest  tourists.  I've  almost  been 
driven  to  do  it  myself." 

"You  should  adopt  the  Japanese  dress,  Patsy," 
said  Mrs.  Dandridge.  "How  does  it  seem,  Barbara, 
to  see  kimono  all  around  you  ?" 

"I  can't  get  it  out  of  my  mind,"  she  answered, 
"that  they  are  all  wearing  them  for  some  sort  of 
masquerade." 

"It  takes  a  few  days  to  get  used  to  it,"  said  the 
Ambassador.  "And  what  a  beautiful  and  practical 
costume  it  is !" 

"And  comfortable!"  sighed  Patricia.  "No  'bones' 
or  tight  places,  and  only  four  or  five  things  to  put 
on.  I  don't  wonder  European  women  look  queer 
to  the  Japanese.  The  cook's  wife  told  me  the  other 
day  that  the  first  foreign  lady  she  ever  saw  looked 
to  her  like  a  wasp  with  a  wig  on  like  a  Shinto  devil." 

67 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

There  rose  again  on  the  still  night  air  the  savage 
bay  Barbara  had  heard  in  her  room.  "I'm  afraid  I 
must  make  up  my  mind  to  lose  Shiro,"  the  Ambassa- 
dor said  regretfully.  "He's  a  Siberian  wolf-hound 
that  a  friend  sent  me  from  Moscow.  But  the  climate 
doesn't  agree  with  him,  apparently.  For  the  last  two 
days  he's  seemed  really  unsafe.  There's  a  famous 
Japanese  dog-doctor  in  this  section,  but  he's  been 
sick  himself  and  I  haven't  liked  to  go  to  an  ordinary 
native  'vet.'  But  I  shall  have  him  looked  at  to- 
morrow." 

"I  do  hope  you  will,"  said  Mrs.  Dandridge  nerv- 
ously. "He  almost  killed  Patsy's  Pomeranian  the 
first  day  he  came.  Watanabe  says  he  hasn't  touched 
his  food  to-day,  and  we  can't  take  any  risks  with  so 
many  children  in  the  compound.  We  have  forty- 
seven,  Barbara,"  she  continued,  "counting  the  sta- 
blemen's families,  and  some  of  them  are  the  dearest 
mites!  Every  Christmas  we  give  them  a  tree.  It 
makes  one  feel  tremendously  patriarchal!" 

It  was  a  home-like  meal,  albeit  thin  slices  of 
lotos-stem  floated  in  Barbara's  soup,  the  lobster  had 
no  claws,  and  the  entree  was  baked  bamboo.  Save 
for  a  high,  four-paneled  screen  of  gold-leaf  with 
delicate  etchings  of  snow-clad  pines,  the  white  room 
was  without  ornament,  but  the  table  gleamed  with 
old  silver,  and  in  its  center  was  a  great  bowl  of  pink 
azaleas.  Smooth-faced  Japanese  men-servants  came 
and  went  noiselessly  in  snowy  footwear  and  dark 

68 


THE  WOLF-HOUND 

silk  houri  whose  sleeves  bore  the  Embassy  eagle  in 
silver  thread. 

The  Ambassador  was  a  man  of  keen  observation, 
and  a  cheerful  philosophy.  His  theory  of  life  was 
expressed  in  a  saying  of  his :  "Human-kind  is  about 
the  same  as  it  has  always  been,  except  a  good  deal 
kinder."  He  had  learned  the  country  at  first  hand. 
He  had  a  profound  appreciation  of  its  whole  histor- 
ical background,  one  gained  not  merely  from  libra- 
ries, but  from  deeper  study  of  the  essential  qualities 
of  Japanese  character  and  feeling.  He  had  the  per- 
fect gift,  moreover,  of  the  raconteur,  and  he  held 
Barbara  passionately  attentive  as  he  sketched,  in 
bold  outlines,  the  huge  picture  of  Japanese  modern- 
ization. Yet  light  as  was  his  couch,  he  nevertheless 
made  her  see  beneath  the  veneer  of  the  foreign, 
the  unaltering  ego  of  a  civilization  old  and  austere, 
of  unfamiliar,  strenuous  ideals,  with  cast  steel  con- 
ventions, eternal  mysteries  of  character  and  of  ra- 
cial destiny. 

Coffee  was  served  in  the  small  drawing-room — a 
home-like,  soft-toned  room  of  crystal-paned  book- 
cases, and  furniture  that  had  been  handed  down  in 
the  Dandridge  family  from  candle-lighted  colony 
days. 

"It  seems  a  shame,"  said  Mrs.  Dandridge,  "that 
this  evening  has  to  be  broken,  but  Patsy  and  I 
must  look  in  at  the  Charity  Bazaar.  I'm  sure  you 
won't  mind,  Barbara,  if  we  leave  you  alone  now  for 

69 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

an  hour  or  so.  It's  a  new  idea:  every  lady  is  to 
bring  something  she  has  no  further  use  for,  but 
which  is  too  good  to  throw  away." 

"I  presume,"  observed  the  Ambassador  inno- 
cently, "that  some  of  them  wiU  bring  their  hus- 
bands." 

"Ned,"  said  Mrs.  Dandridge,  as  she  drew  on  her 
wrap,  "people  will  soon  think  you  haven't  a  serious 
side.  It  would  serve  you  right  if  I  took  you  along 
as  my  contribution." 

"Ah,"  returned  he,  "I  was  thoughtful  enough  to 
make  a  previous  engagement.  Doctor  Bersonin  is 
coming  to  see  me." 

Patsy's  nose  took  a  decided  elevation. 

"The  Government  expert,"  she  said.  "He  was 
on  the  train.  It's  the  first  time  I  ever  saw  him  with- 
out that  smart-looking  Japanese  head-boy  of  his 
who  goes  with  him  everywhere  as  interpreter." 

"Tve  noticed  that,"  Mrs.  Dandridge  said.  "He's 
always  with  him  in  his  automobile.  By  the  way, 
Patsy,  who  does  that  boy  remind  me  of?  It  has 
always  puzzled  me." 

"Why,"  Patricia  answered,  "he  looks  something 
like  that  Japanese  student  we  saw  so  often  the  win- 
ter Barbara  and  we  were  in  Monterey.  You  re- 
member, Barbara — the  one  who  spoke  such  perfect 
English.  We  thought  he  was  loony,  because  he  used 
to  sit  on  the  beach  all  day  and  sail  little  wooden 
boats." 

70 


THE  WOLF-HOUND 

"So  he  does,"  said  her  mother.  "There's  a  de- 
cided resemblance.  But  Doctor  Bersonin's  boy  is 
anything  but  loony.  He  has  a  most  intelligent  face." 

"Besides,"  said  Patricia,  "the  other  was  near- 
sighted and  wore  spectacles.  Good-by,  Barbara.  I 
hope  the  doctor  will  be  gone  when  we  get  back." 

Her  voice  came  muffled  from  the  hall  " — Oh,  I 
can't  help  it,  mother!  I'm  only  a  diplomat-once- 
removed  !  He  is  horrid !" 


CHAPTER   VII 

DOCTOR   BERSONIN 

THE  Ambassador  received  his  caller  in  his 
study.  From  across  the  hall,  Barbara, 
through  the  half-open  door,  could  see  the  ex- 
pert's huge  form  filling  an  arm-chair,  where  the 
limpid  light  of  the  desk-lamp  fell  on  his  heavy,  col- 
orless face.  The  walls  were  lined  with  bookshelves 
and  curtains  of  low  tone,  and  against  this  formless 
background  his  big  profile  stood  out  pallid  and 
hawk-like.  She  could  hear  his  voice  distinctly.  Its 
even,  dead  flatness  affected  her  curiously ;  it  was  not 
harsh,  but  absolutely  without  tone-quality  or  sym- 
pathy. 

For  some  time  the  talk  was  on  casual  topics  and 
she  occupied  herself  listlessly  with  a  tray  of  photo- 
graphs on  the  table.  She  read  their  titles,  smiling 
at  the  extraordinary  intricacies  of  "English  as  she  is 
Japped"  by  the  complaisant  oriental  photographer: 
The  Picking  Sea-Ear  at  Enoshima;  East-looking 
Panorama  of  Fuji  Mount;  Geisha  in  the  Famous 
Dance  of  Maple-Leaf. 

The  smile  left  her  face.     Something  had  been 
72 


DOCTOR  BERSONIN 

said  in  the  farther  room  which  caught  her  attention 
and  in  a  moment  she  found  herself  listening  intently. 

"I  understand  the  trials  of  the  new  powder  have 
been  very  successful,"  the  Ambassador  was  saying. 
"Is  it  destined  to  revolutionize  warfare,  do  you 
think?" 

"It  is  too  soon  to  tell  yet,"  was  the  reply,  "just 
what  the  result  will  be.  It  will  enormously  increase 
the  range  of  projectiles,  as  Your  Excellency  may 
guess,  and  its  area  of  destruction  will  nearly  double 
that  of  lyddite." 

Barbara  felt,  rather  than  saw,  that  the  Ambas- 
sador gave  a  little  shudder.  "I  can  imagine  what 
that  means,"  he  said.  "I  saw  Port  Arthur  after 
the  siege.  So  war  is  to  grow  more  dreadful  still! 
When  will  it  cease,  I  wonder." 

"Never,"  Bersonin  answered,  with  a  cold  smile. 
"It  is  the  love  of  power  that  makes  war,  and  that, 
in  man,  is  inherent  and  ineradicable.  A  nation  is 
only  the  individual  in  the  aggregate,  and  selfishness 
is  the  guiding  gospel  of  both." 

To  Barbara  the  words  seemed  coldly,  cruelly  re- 
pellant.  She  felt  a  sudden  quiver  of  dislike  run 
over  her. 

"You  paint  a  sorry  picture,"  said  the  Ambassa- 
dor. "Can  human  ingenuity  go  much  further, 
then?  What,  in  your  opinion,  will  be  the  fighting 
engine  of  the  future?" 

"The  engine  of  the  future" — Bersonin  spoke  de- 
73 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

liberately — "will  be  along  other  lines.  It  will  be  an 
atomic  one.  It  will  employ  no  projectile  and  no 
armor  plate  will  resist  it.  The  discoverer  will  have 
harnessed  the  law  of  molecular  vibration.  As  there 
is  a  positive  force  that  binds  atoms  together,  so 
there  must  be  a  negative  force  that,  under  certain 
conditions,  can  drive  them  apart !" 

He  spoke  with  what  seemed  an  extraordinary 
conviction.  His  manner  had  subtly  changed.  For 
the  first  time  his  tone  had  gathered  something  like 
feeling,  and  the  dry,  metallic  voice  seemed  to  Bar- 
bara to  vibrate  with  a  curious,  gloating  triumph. 

"Granted  such  a  force,"  he  went  on,  "and  a  ma- 
chine to  generate  and  direct  it,  and  of  what  value 
is  the  most  powerful  battle-ship,  the  most  stupen- 
dous fort?  Mere  silly  shreds  of  steel  and  stone! 
Why,  such  an  engine  might  be  carried  in  a  single 
hand,  and  yet  the  nation  that  possessed  it  could  be 
master  of  the  world !" 

A  dark  flush  had  risen  to  his  pallid  cheek,  and  on 
the  arm  of  his  chair  Barbara  saw  the  massive  fin- 
gers of  one  huge  hand  clench  and  unclench  with  a 
furtive,  nervous  gesture.  The  sight  gave  her  a 
sharp  sense  of  recoil  as  if  from  the  touch  of  some- 
thing sinister  and  evilly  suggestive. 

"No!"  said  the  Ambassador  vehemently.  "Hu- 
manity would  revolt.  Such  a  discovery  would  be 
worth  less  than  nothing!  Its  use  by  any  warring 
nation  would  call  down  the  execration  of  civiliza- 

74 


DOCTOR  BERSONIN 

tion,  and  the  man  who  knew  the  secret  would  be 
too  dangerous  to  be  at  large!" 

There  was  dead  silence  for  a  moment.  Bersonin 
sat  motionless,  staring  straight  before  him.  Very 
slowly  the  color  seemed  to  fade  from  his  cheek. 
When  he  spoke  again  his  voice  had  regained  its 
dead  level  of  tonelessness. 

"That  has  occurred  to  me,"  he  said.  "I  think 
Your  Excellency  is  right.  Invention  may  do  its 
work  too  well.  However — no  doubt  we  speak  of 
scientific  impossibilities ;  let  us  hope  so,  at  any  rate." 

Barbara  pushed  the  photographs  aside  and 
slipped  into  the  next  room,  closing  the  door  and 
drawing  the  heavy  portieres  that  hung  over  it.  She 
had  had  for  a  moment  a  vague,  almost  childish, 
sense  of  shrinking  as  if  from  something  monstrous 
and  uncanny — such  a  sensation  as  the  naked  diver 
may  have,  when,  peering  through  his  water-glass, 
he  sees  a  dim  grisly  shape  glide,  stealthy  and  cold, 
through  the  opaque  depths.  She  was  growing  ab- 
surdly fanciful,  she  thought.  She  did  not  turn  on 
the  electric  light,  but  threw  open  one  of  the  long, 
French  windows.  There  was  a  new  moon  and  a 
pale  radiance  flooded  the  room,  with  a  sudden  odor 
of  wistaria  and  plum-blossoms.  The  window  gave 
on  to  a  porch  running  the  length  of  the  house,  and 
this  made  her  think  suddenly  of  home.  Yet  the  air 
was  too  humid  for  California,  too  moist  and  rich 
even  for  Florida.  And  suddenly  she  found  herself 

75 


pitying  the  people  there  to  whom  the  East  would 
always  be  a  closed  book.  Yet  how  dim  and  vague 
Japan  had  been  to  her  a  month  before ! 

A  grand  piano  stood  open  by  the  window  and  in 
the  dim  light  she  sat  down  and  let  her  fingers  wan- 
der idly  in  long  arpeggios.  She  could  see  one  side 
of  the  Japanese  garden,  with  a  glimpse  of  a  tiny 
dry  lake  and  a  pebbled  rivulet  spanned  by  an  arch- 
ing bridge  of  red  lacquer.  It  ended  in  a  sharp, 
sloping  hill  covered  with  shrubbery.  On  the  ridge 
far  above  she  distinguished  the  outlines  of  native 
houses  and  flanking  them  the  curved,  Tartar-like 
gables  of  a  gray  old  temple.  Somewhere,  beyond 
that  little  hill,  perhaps,  stood  the  Chapel  erected  to 
her  father's  memory,  which  she  had  yet  to  see.  As 
her  fingers  strayed  over  the  ivory  keys,  she  thought 
of  him,  of  his  vivid,  aberrant  career  and  untimely 
end. 

There  are  nights  in  the  Japanese  spring  when  the 
landscape,  in  its  wondrous  delicacy  of  tones,  seems 
only  an  envelope  of  something  subtler  and  unseen, 
the  filmy  covering  of  a  beauty  that  is  wholly  spir- 
itual. To-night  it  seemed  so  to  Barbara.  The  close 
was  very  still,  wrapped  in  a  dreamy  haze  as  soft  as 
sleep,  the  mountains  on  the  horizon  wan  shapes  of 
silver  mist,  semi-diaphanous.  It  seemed  to  her  that 
in  this  living,  sentient  breath  of  Japan,  her  father 
was  nearer  to  her  than  he  had  ever  been  before. 

The  thought  brought  to  her  vague  memories  of 
76 


DOCTOR  BERSONIN 

her  mother  and  of  her  childhood.  Old  airs  began 
to  mingle  with  the  chords,  and  on  the  shrill  fairy 
sound-carpet  woven  by  the  myriad  insect-looms  of 
the  garden,  the  bits  of  melody  went  treading  softly 
out  across  the  perfume  of  the  wistaria. 


77 


CHAPTER    VIII 
"SALLY  IN  OUR  ALLEY" 

SHE  thought  no  one  heard,  but  out  by  the 
azalea  hedge,  a  man  was  standing,  listening 
to  the  hushed  chords  floating  through  the  open 
window. 

From  the  bungalow  on  the  Yokohama  Bluff, 
Daunt  had  come  back  to  Tokyo  with  a  sense  of 
dissatisfaction  deeper  than  should  have  been  caused 
by  his  jarring  talk  with  Phil.  Perhaps,  though  he 
did  not  guess  it,  his  mood  had  to  do  with  a  bulky 
letter  in  his  pocket,  received  that  day.  It  was  from 
"Big"  Murray,  his  chum  at  college,  whom  he  had 
commonly  addressed  by  opprobrious  epithets  that 
covered  an  affection  time  had  not  diminished.  Of 
all  the  men  in  his  class  Daunt  would  have  picked 
him  as  the  one  least  likeh*  to  marry.  Yet  the  let- 
ter had  contained  a  wedding-invitation  and  a  ream 
of  the  usual  hyperbole.  "Going  to  name  me  god- 
father, is  he!"  Daunt  had  muttered  as  he  read. 
"The  driveling  old  horse-thief!"  For  in  some 
elusive  way  the  intended  distinction  suggested  that 
he  himself  was  a  hoary  back-number,  not  to  be  reck- 
oned among  the  forces  of  youth.  Strolling  from 

78 


SALLY  IN  OUR  ALLEY 

Shimbashi  Station,  under  tfie  clustered,  gaily-colored 
paper-lanterns,  swaying  above  the  rustle  and  stir  of 
the  exotic  street,  this  thought  rankled.  A  vague  dis- 
content stirred  in  him. 

Tokyo  had  been  the  objective  point  of  Daunt's  six 
years  of  diplomatic  career,  and  he  had  found  the 
Kingdom  of  the  Slender  Swords  a  fascinating  and 
absorbing  study.  He  loved  its  contrasts  and  its 
contradictions,  its  marvelous  artistry,  the  reserve 
and  nobility  of  its  people,  and  its  savage,  unshamed, 
sincerity  of  purpose.  In  the  absorbing  routine  of  the 
Chancery  and  the  bright  gaieties  of  the  capital's 
diplomatic  circle,  the  first  year  had  gone  swiftly 
enough.  Since  then  the  Glider  experiments  had 
lent  an  added  zest. 

Even  at  college,  Langley's  first  aeroplane  had  in- 
terested him  and  out  of  that  interest  had  grown  a 
course  of  reading  which  had  given  him  a  broad 
technical  knowledge  of  applied  mechanics.  In  Japan 
he  had  conceived  the  idea  of  the  new  fan-propeller, 
worked  out  in  many  an  hour  of  study  in  the  little 
Japanese  house  in  Aoyama,  which  he  had  taken  be- 
cause it  adjoined  the  parade-ground  where  his  earli- 
est experiments  were  made.  At  first  the  Corps  Dip- 
lomatique had  smiled  at  this  as  a  harmless  pour 
passer  le  temps,  to  be  classified  with  the  Roumanian 
Minister's  kennel  of  Pomeranians  or  the  Chilian 
Secretary's  collection  of  daimyo  dolls.  But  week 
by  week  the  little  crowd  of  Japanese  spectators  had 

79 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

grown  larger;  often  Daunt  had  recognized  among 
the  attentive  brown  faces  this  or  that  superior  mili- 
tary officer  whom  he  knew,  albeit  in  civilian  dress. 
One  day  his  friend,  Viscount  Sakai,  a  dapper  young 
officer  on  the  General  Staff,  had  surprised  him 
with  the  offer  from  the  Japanese  War  Depart- 
ment of  the  use  of  an  empty  garage  on  the  edge 
of  the  great  esplanade.  Only  a  month  ago,  he 
had  awaked  to  the  knowledge  that  his  name  was 
known  to  the  aero  enthusiasts  of  Paris,  New  York 
and  Vienna,  and  that  his  propeller  was  an  assured 
success. 

Yet  to-night  he  felt  that  he  had  somehow  failed. 
The  splendid  vitality  of  the  moving  scene,  the  thud 
and  click  of  wooden  geta  and  the  whirr  of  rick'sha 
— all  the  many-keyed  diapason  of  the  rustling,  lan- 
terned vistas  stretching  under  the  pale  moon-lighted 
sky — lacked  the  sense  of  intimate  companionship. 
The  warm  still  air,  freighted  with  aromatic  scents 
of  cedar  from  some  new-built  shop,  the  pungent 
smell  of  incense  burning  before  some  shadowed 
shrine,  the  odors  of  drenched  shrubbery  behind  the 
massive  retaining  wall  of  some  rich  noble's  com- 
pound, came  to  him  with  a  new  sense  of  estrange- 
ment. The  murmured  sound  of  voices  behind  the 
glimmering  paper  shofi  told  him,  suddenly,  that  he 
was  lonely.  For  the  first  time  in  six  years,  he  was 
feeling  keenly  his  long  isolation  from  the  things  of 
home,  the  pleasant  fellowship  and  the  firesides  of  old 

80 


SALLY  IN  OUR  ALLEY 

friends.  In  this  foreign  service  which  he  so  loved, 
he  had  been  growing  out  of  touch,  he  told  himself, 
out  of  thought,  of  the  things  "Big"  Murray  had 
sought  and  found. 

Unconsciously,  the  "drivel,"  as  he  had  denom- 
inated it,  of  the  letter  in  his  pocket,  had  in- 
fected him  with  sweet  and  foolish  imaginings,  and 
slowly  these  took  the  nebulous  shape  of  a  woman. 
He  had  often  dreamed  of  her,  though  he  had  never 
seen  her  face.  It  was  half-veiled  now  in  the  bluish 
haze  of  his  pipe,  while  she  talked  to  him  before  a 
fire  of  driftwood  (that  burned  with  red  and  blue 
lights  because  of  sea-ghosts  in  it)  and  her  voice  was 
low  and  clear  like  a  flute. 

The  wavering  outline  was  still  before  his  mind's 
eye  as  he  trod  the  quiet  road  that  led  to  the  Embassy, 
entered  its  wide  gate  and  slowly  crossed  the  silent 
garden  toward  his  bachelor  cottage  on  the  lawn. 
And  there,  suddenly,  the  vision  had  seized  a  vagrant 
melody  and  had  spoken  to  him  in  song.  Daunt 
thrust  his  cold  pipe  into  his  pocket  and  listened  with 
head  thrown  back. 

It  was  no  brilliant  display  of  technique  that  held 
him,  for  the  player  was  touching  simple  chords,  but 
these  were  singing  old  melodies  that  took  him  far  to 
other  scenes  and  other  times.  He  smiled  to  himself. 
How  long  it  had  been  since  he  had  sung  them — not 
since  the  old  college  days!  That  happy,  irrespon- 
sible era  of  senior  dignities  came  back  vividly  to 

81 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

him,  the  campus  and  the  singing.  For  years  he  had 
not  recollected  it  all  so  keenly!  He  had  been  glee- 
club  soloist,  pushed  forward  on  all  occasions  and 
applauded  to  the  echo.  Praise  of  his  singing  he  had 
accepted  somewhat  humorously — never  but  once  had 
it  touched  him  deeply,  and  that  had  been  on  com- 
mencement afternoon. 

He  had  slipped  away  from  the  wavering  cheers 
at  the  station,  because  he  could  not  bear  the  fare- 
wells, and,  far  down  one  of  the  campus  lanes,  had 
come  on  pretty  Mrs.  Claybourne  sitting  on  a  rustic 
bench.  Again  he  heard  her  speak,  as  plainly  as  if  it 
were  yesterday:  "Why,  if  it  isn't  Mr.  Daunt!  I 
wonder  how  the  university  can  open  in  the  fall  with- 
out you !"  He  had  sat  down  beside  her  as  she  said : 
"This  very  insistent  young  person  with  me  has  been 
heartbroken  because  we  could  not  get  tickets  for  the 
Glee-Club  Concert  last  night.  She  wanted  to  hear 
you  sing.'* 

He  had  looked  up  then  to  see  a  young  girl,  seated 
on  the  leaning  trunk  of  a  tulip-tree.  Her  neutral- 
tinted  skirt  lay  against  the  dark  bark ;  her  face  was 
almost  hidden  by  a  spray  of  the  great,  creamy-pink 
blossoms.  Some  quality  in  its  delicate  loveliness  had 
made  him  wish  to  please  her,  and  sitting  there  he 
had  sung  the  song  that  was  his  favorite.  Mrs.  Clay- 
bourne  had  pulled  a  big  branch  of  the  tulip-tree  to 
hand  him  like  a  bouquet  over  the  footlights,  but  the 

82 


SALLY  IN  OUR  ALLEY 

girl's  parted  lips,  her  wide  deep  brown  eyes,  had 
thanked  him  in  a  better  way ! 

The  music,  now  floating  over  the  garden,  by  such 
subconscious  association,  recalled  this  scene,  pver- 
laid,  but  never  forgotten.  Hark !  A  cascade  of  silver 
notes,  and  then  an  old  air  that  had  been  revived  in 
his  time  to  become  the  madness  of  the  music-halls 
and  the  pet  of  the  pianolas — the  one  the  crowded 
campus  had  been  wont  to  demand  with  loudest  voice 
when  his  tenor  led  the  "Senior  Singing."  It  brought 
back  with  a  rush  the  familiar  faces,  the  gray  ivied 
dormitories  with  their  slim  iron  balconies,  the  throb- 
bing plaint  of  mandolins,  and  his  own  voice — 

"Of  all  the  girls  that  are  so  smart, 
There's  none  like  pretty  Sally  I 

She  is  the  darling  of  my  heart, 
And  she  lives " 

He  scarcely  knew  he  sang,  but  the  vibrant  tenor, 
lifting  across  the  scent  of  the  wistaria,  came  clearly 
to  the  girl  at  the  piano.  For  a  moment  Barbara's 
fingers  played  on,  as  she  listened  with  a  strained 
wonder.  Then  the  music  ceased  with  a  discord  and 
she  came  quickly  through  the  opened  window. 

The  song  was  smitten  from  Daunt's  lips.  In  the 
instant  that  she  stood  outlined  on  the  broad  piazza, 
a  fierce  snarling  yelp  and  a  clatter  came  from  within 
the  house  and  there  rang  out  a  screamed  Japanese 

83 


warning.  An  outer  door  flew  open  and  the  huge 
figure  of  Doctor  Bersonin  ran  out,  pursued  by  a  leap- 
ing white  shadow,  while  the  air  thrilled  to  the  savage 
cry  of  a  hound,  shaken  with  rage. 

"Run,  Barbara!"  The  Ambassador's  voice  came 
from  the  doorway.  But  the  white,  moonlit  figure, 
in  its  gauzy  evening  gown,  turned  too  late.  Empty- 
handed,  Daunt  dashed  for  the  piazza,  as,  with  a 
crash,  a  heavy  porch  chair,  hurled  by  a  Japanese 
house-boy,  penned  the  animal  for  an  instant  in  a  cor- 
ner. He  caught  the  white  figure  up  in  his  arms, 
sprang  into  the  shade  of  the  wistaria  arbor,  and  set 
her  feet  on  its  high  railing.  The  voice  from  the 
doorway  called  again,  sharply. 

"This  way,  Doctor !  Quick!" 

The  wolf-hound,  trailing  its  broken  chain,  had 
leaped  the  barrier  and  was  launched  straight  at  the 
crouching  expert.  The  latter  had  dragged  some- 
thing small  and  square  from  his  pocket  and  he 
seemed  now  to  hold  this  out  before  him.  Daunt, 
wrenching  a  cleat  from  the  arbor  railing,  felt 
a  puff  of  cold  wind  strike  his  face,  and  something 
like  an  elfin  note  of  music,  high  and  thin  as  an  in- 
sect's, drifted  across  the  confusion.  He  rushed  for- 
ward with  his  improvised  weapon — then  stopped 
short.  The  dog  was  no  longer  there. 

The  Ambassador  made  an  exclamation.  He 
stepped  down  and  peered  under  the  piazza.;  even  in 
the  dim  light  the  long  space  was  palpably  empty. 

84 


SALLY  IN  OUR  ALLEY 

The  head-boy  spoke  rapidly  in  Japanese  and  pointed 
toward  the  gate. 

"He  says  he  must  have  jumped  down  this  side," 
explained  Daunt,  "and  run  out  to  the  street.  He's 
nowhere  in  the  garden,  at  any  rate.  We  can  see 
every  inch.  How  surprising!"  He  spoke  to  the  boy 
in  the  vernacular.  "He  will  have  the  gates  closed 
at  once  and  telephone  a  warning  to  the  police 
station." 

Bersonin  had  sat  down  on  the  edge  of  the  piazza. 
He  was  crouched  far  over ;  his  big  frame  was  shaken 
with  violent  shudderings.  Suddenly  his  head  went 
back  and  he  began  to  laugh — a  jarring,  grating, 
weird  man-hysteria  that  seemed  to  burst  suddenly 
beyond  his  control. 

The  Ambassador  went  to  him  hurriedly,  but  Ber- 
sonin shook  off  the  hand  on  his  shoulder  and  rising, 
still  emitting  his  dreadful  laughter,  staggered  across 
the  lawn  and  out  of  the  gate. 

The  appalling  mirth  reechoed  from  far  down  the 
quiet  road. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE    WEB    OF   THE    SPIDER 

BERSONIN   walked  on,   fighting  desperately 
with  his  ghastly  spasm  of  merriment. 

It  was  a  nervous  affection  which  had 
haunted  him  for  years.  It  dated  from  a  time  when, 
in  South  America,  in  an  acute  crisis  of  desperate  per- 
sonal hazard,  he  had  laughed  the  first  peal  of  that 
strange  laughter  of  which  he  was  to  be  ever  after 
afraid.  Since  then  it  had  seized  him  many  times, 
unexpectedly  and  in  moments  of  strong  excitement, 
to  shake  him  like  a  lath.  It  had  given  him  a  morbid 
hatred  of  laughter  in  others.  Recently  he  had 
thought  that  he  was  overcoming  the  weakness — for 
in  two  years  past  he  had  had  no  such  seizure — and 
the  recurrence  to-night  shocked  and  disconcerted 
him.  He,  the  man  of  brain  and  attainment,  to  be 
held  captive  by  a  ridiculous  hysteria,  like  a  nerve- 
racked  anaemic  girl!  The  cold  sweat  stood  on  his 
forehead. 

Before  long  the  paroxysms  ceased  and  he  grew 
calmer.  The  quiet  road  had  merged  into  a  busier 
thoroughfare.  He  walked  on  slowly  till  his  com- 
mand was  regained.  West  of  the  outer  moat  of  the 

86 


THE  WEB  OF  THE  SPIDER 

Imperial  Grounds,  he  turned  up  a  pleasant  lane-like 
street  and  presently  entered  his  own  gate.  The 
house,  into  which  he  let  himself  with  a  latch-key, 
was  a  rambling,  modern,  two-story  structure  of  yel- 
low stucco.  The  lower  floor  was  practically  unused, 
since  its  tenant  lived  alone  and  did  not  entertain. 
The  upper  floor,  besides  the  hall,  contained  a  small 
bedroom,  a  bath  and  dressing-room  and  a  large, 
barely-furnished  laboratory.  The  latter  was  lined 
on  two  sides  with  glass-covered  shelves  which  gave 
glimpses  of  rows  of  books,  of  steel  shells,  metal  and 
crystal  retorts  and  crucibles,  the  delicate  parapher- 
nalia of  organic  chemistry  and  complicated  instru- 
ments whose  use  no  one  knew  save  himself — a  fit 
setting  for  the  great  student,  the  peer  of  Offenbach 
in  Munich  and  of  Bayer  in  Vienna.  Against  the  wall 
leaned  a  drafting-board,  on  which,  pinned  down  by 
thumb-tacks,  was  a  sketch-plan  of  a  revolving  turret. 
From  a  bracket  in  a  corner — the  single  airy  touch  of 
delicacy  in  a  chamber  almost  sordid  in  its  appoint- 
ments— swung  a  bamboo  cage  with  a  brown  hiwa, 
or  Japanese  finch,  a  downy  puff  of  feathers  with  its 
head  under  its  wing. 

In  the  upper  hall  Bersonin's  Japanese  head-boy 
had  been  sitting  at  a  small  desk  writing.  Bersonin 
entered  the  laboratory,  opened  a  safe  let  into  a  wall, 
and  put  into  it  something  which  he  took  from  his 
pocket.  Then  he  donned  a  dressing-gown  the  boy 
brought,  and  threw  himself  into  a  huge  leather  chair. 

87 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"Make  me  some  coffee,  Ishida,"  he  said. 

The  servant  did  so  silently  and  deftly,  using  a 
small  brass  samovar  which  occupied  a  table  of  its 
own.  With  the  coffee  he  brought  his  master  a  box 
of  brown  Havana  cigars. 

For  an  hour  Bersonin  sat  smoking  in  the  silent 
room — one  cigar  after  another,  deep  in  thought,  his 
yellow  eyes  staring  at  nothing.  Into  his  counte- 
nance deep  lines  had  etched  themselves,  giving  to 
his  coldly  repellant  look  an  expression  of  malignant 
force  and  intention.  With  his  pallid  face,  his  stir- 
less  attitude,  his  great  white  fingers  clutching  the 
arms  of  the  chair,  he  suggested  some  enormous, 
sprawling  batrachian  awaiting  its  more  active  prey. 

All  at  once  there  came  a  chirp  from  the  cage  in 
the  corner  and  its  tiny  occupant,  waked  by  the  elec- 
tric-light, burst  into  song  as  clear  and  joyous  as 
though  before  its  free  wing  lay  all  the  meads  of 
Eden.  A  look  more  human,  soft  and  almost  com- 
panionable, came  into  its  master's  massive  face.  Ber- 
sonin rose  and,  whistling,  opened  the  cage  door  and 
held  out  an  enormous  forefinger.  The  little  creature 
stepped  on  it,  and,  held  to  his  cheek,  it  rubbed  its 
feathered  head  against  it.  For  a  moment  he  crooned 
and  whistled  to  it,  then  held  his  finger  to  the  cage  and 
it  obediently  resumed  its  perch  and  its  melody.  The 
expert  took  a  dark  cloth  from  a  hook  and  threw  it 
over  the  cage  and  the  song  ceased. 

Bersonin  went  to  the  door  of  the  room  and  fas- 
88 


THE  WEB  OF  THE  SPIDER 

tened  it,  then  unlocked  a  desk  and  spread  some  pa- 
pers on  the  table.  One  was  a  chart,  drawn  to  the  mi- 
nutest scale,  of  the  harbor  of  Yokohama.  On  it  had 
been  marked  a  group  of  projectile- shaped  spots  sug- 
gesting a  flotilla  of  vessels  at  anchor.  For  a  long 
time  he  worked  absorbedly,  setting  down  figures, 
measuring  with  infinite  pains,  computing  angles — al- 
ways with  reference  to  a  small  square  in  the  map's 
inner  margin,  marked  in  red.  He  covered  many 
sheets  of  paper  with  his  calculations.  Finally  he  took 
another  paper  from  the  safe  and  compared  the  two. 
He  lifted  his  head  with  a  look  of  satisfaction. 

Just  then  he  thought  he  heard  a  slight  noise  from 
the  hall.  Swiftly  and  noiselessly  as  a  great  cat  he 
crossed  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

Ishida  sat  in  his  place  scratching  laboriously  with 
a  foreign  pen. 

Bersonin's  glance  of  suspicion  altered.  "What 
are  you  working  at  so  industriously,  Ishida?"  he 
asked. 

The  Japanese  boy  displayed  the  sheet  with  pride. 

It  was  an  ode  to  the  coming  Squadron.  Bersonin 
read  it : 

"Welcome,  foreign  men-of-war! 
Young  and  age, 
Man  and  woman, 
None  but  you  welcome ! 

And  how  our  reaches  know  you  but  to  satisfy, 
Nor  the  Babylon  nor  the  Parisian  you  to  treat, 

89 


Be  it  ever  so  humble, 
Yet  a  tidbit  with  our  heart  ! 
What  may  not  be  accomplishment  Rising-Sun? 

"By  H.  Ishida,  with  best  compliment." 

Bersonin  laid  it  down  with  a  word  of  approbation. 
"Well  done,"  he  said.  "You  will  be  a  famous  Eng- 
lish scholar  before  long."  He  went  into  the  dress- 
ing-room, but  an  instant  later  recollected  the  papers 
on  the  table.  The  servant  was  in  the  laboratory 
when  his  master  hastily  reentered;  he  was  method- 
ically removing  the  coffee  tray. 

Alone  once  more,  Ishida  reseated  himself  at  his 
small  desk.  He  tore  the  poem  carefully  to  small  bits 
and  put  them  into  the  waste-paper  basket.  Then, 
rubbing  the  cake  of  India-ink  on  its  stone  tablet,  he 
drew  a  mass  of  Japanese  writing  toward  him  and, 
with  brush  held  vertically  between  thumb  and  fore- 
finger, began  to  trace  long,  delicate  characters  at  the 
top  of  the  first  sheet,  thus  : 


£±i!  U  Hffi 

In   the  Japanese   phrase  this  might   literally  be 
translated  as  follows: 

CROSS-CURRENT    OF,    LAYING    WATER    THUNDER    ON, 

WORK-EFFECT 

LEFT  HAND  RESPECTFULLY 

90 


THE  WEB  OF  THE  SPIDER 
Which  in  conventional  English  is  to  say : 

A   STUDY   OF   CROSS-CURRENTS  IN   THEIR   EFFECT   ON 

SUBMARINE  MINES 
SUBMITTED  WITH  DEFERENCE 

This  finished,  he  sealed  it  in  an  envelope,  took  a 
book  from  the  breast  of  his  kimono  and  began  to 
read.  Its  cover  bore  the  words:  "Second  English 
Primer,  in  words  of  Two  Syllables."  Its  inner  pages, 
however,  belied  the  legend.  It  was  Mahan's  Influ- 
ence of  Sea-Power  on  History. 

Yet  Lieutenant  Ishida  of  the  Japanese  Imperial 
Navy,  one  time  student  in  Monterey,  California,  now 
in  Special  Secret-Service,  read  abstractedly.  He 
was  wondering  why  Doctor  Bersonin  should  have  in 
his  possession  a  technical  naval  chart  and  what  was 
the  meaning  of  certain  curious  markings  he  had 
made  on  it. 


CHAPTER  X 

IN  A  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS 

IN  the  garden  the  moon's  faint  light  glimmered 
on  the  broad,  satiny  leaves  of  the  camelias  and 
the  delicate  traceries  of  red  maple  foliage.  At 
its  farther  side,  amid  flowering  bushes  which  cast 
long  indigo  shadows,  stood  a  small  pagoda,  brought 
many  years  before  from  Korea,  and  toward  this 
Daunt  and  the  girl  whom  he  had  held  for  a  breath- 
less moment  in  his  arms,  strolled  slowly  along 
a  winding,  pebbled  path  tremulant  with  the  flickering 
shadows  of  little  leaves.  The  structure  had  a  small 
platform,  and  here  on  a  bench  they  sat  down,  the 
fragrant  garden  spread  out  before  them. 

He  had  remembered  that  a  guest  had  been  ex- 
pected to  arrive  that  day  from  America,  and  knew 
that  this  must  be  she.  But,  strangely  enough,  it  did 
not  seem  as  if  they  had  never  before  met.  Nor 
had  he  the  least  idea  that,  since  that  short  sharp 
scene,  they  had  exchanged  scarcely  a  dozen  words. 
In  its  curious  sequel,  as  he  stood  listening  to  the 
echo  of  Bersonin's  strange  laughter,  he  had  momen- 
tarily forgotten  all  about  her.  Then  he  had  remem- 

92 


IN  A  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS 

bered  with  a  shock  that  he  had  left  her  perched,  in 
evening  dress,  on  the  high  railing  of  the  arbor. 

"I  wonder  if  you  are  in  the  habit,"  she  had  said 
with  a  little  laugh,  "of  putting  unchaperoned  girls 
on  the  tops  of  fences,  and  going  away  and  forgetting 
all  about  them." 

Her  laugh  was  deliciously  uneven,  but  it  did  not 
seem  so  from  fright.  He  had  answrered  something 
inordinately  foolish,  and  had  lifted  her  down  again 
— not  holding  her  so  closely  this  time.  He  remem- 
bered that  on  the  first  occasion  he  had  held  her  very 
tightly  indeed.  He  could  still  feel  the  touch  of  a  wisp 
of  her  hair  which,  in  his  flying  leap,  had  fallen 
against  his  cheek.  It  was  red-bronze  and  it  shone 
now  in  the  moonlight  like  molten  metal.  Her  eyes 
were  deep  blue,  and  when  she  smiled— 

He  wrenched  his  gaze  away  with  a  start.  But  it 
did  not  stray  far — merely  to  the  point  of  a  white- 
beaded  slipper  peeping  from  the  edge  of  a  ruffle  of 
gauze  that  had  mysteriously  imprisoned  filmy  sprays 
of  lily-of-the-valley. 

He  looked  up  suddenly,  conscious  that  she  was 
laughing  silently.  "What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"We  seem  so  tremendously  acquainted,"  she  said, 
"for  people  who—  She  stopped  an  instant.  "You 
don't  even  know  who  I  am." 

In  the  references  to  her  coming  he  had  heard  her 
name  spoken  and  now,  by  a  sheer  mental  effort,  he 
managed  to  recall  it 

93 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"You  are  Miss  Fairfax/'  he  said.  "And  my 
name,  perhaps  I  ought  to  add,  is  Daunt.  I  am  the 
Secretary  of  Embassy.  I  hope,  after  our  little  effort 
of  to-night,  you  will  not  consider  diplomacy  only 
high-class  vaudeville.  Such  comedy  scarcely  repre- 
sents our  daily  bill." 

"It  came  near  enough  to  being  tragedy,"  she 
answered. 

"It  was  so  uncommonly  life-like,  I  was  torn  with 
a  fear  that  you  might  not  guess  it  was  gotten  up  for 
your  especial  benefit.'' 

"How  well  you  treat  your  visitors !"  she  said  with 
gentle  irony.  "Had  you  many  rehearsals  ?" 

"Very  few,"  he  said.  "I  was  afraid  the  boy  might 
misread  the  stage  direction  and  slip  the  dog-chain 
too  soon.  But  I  am  greatly  pleased.  I  have  always 
had  an  insatiable  longing  to  be  a  hero — if  only  on 
the  stage.  I  aspire  to  Grand  Opera,  also,  as  you 
have  noticed."  He  laughed,  a  trifle  shamefacedly, 
then  added  quickly :  "I  hope  you  liked  the  final  dis- 
appearance act.  It  was  rather  effective,  don't  you 
think?" 

She  smiled  unwillingly.  "Ah,  you  make  light  of 
it!  But  don't  think  I  didn't  know  how  quickly  you 
acted — what  you  risked  in  that  one  minute!  And 
then  to  run  back  a  second  time!"  She  shuddered  a 
little.  "You  could  have  done  nothing  with  that 
piece  of  wood !" 

"I  assure  you,"  he  said,  "you  underrate  my 
94 


IN  A  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS 

prowess !  But  it  wasn't  to  be  used — it  was  only  the 
dog's  cue." 

"Poor  brute!''  she  said.  "I  hope  he  will  injure 
nobody." 

"Luckily,  the  children  are  off  the  streets  at  this 
hour,"  he  answered.  "He'll  not  go  far;  the  police 
are  too  numerous.  I  am  afraid  our  very  efficient 
performer  is  permanently  retired  from  the  company. 
But  I  haven't  yet  congratulated  you.  You  didn't 
seem  one  bit  afraid." 

"I  hadn't  time  to  be  frightened.  I — was  thinking 
of  something  else!  The  fright  came  afterward, 
when  I  saw  you — when  you  left  me  on  the  railing." 
She  spoke  a  little  constrainedly,  and  went  on  quickly : 
"I  really  am  a  desperate  coward  about  some  things. 
I  should  never  dare  to  go  up  on  an  aeroplane,  for 
instance,  as  Patsy  tells  me  you  do  almost  every  day. 
She  says  the  Japanese  call  you  the  'Honorable  Fly- 
Man'." 

"There's  no  foreign  theater  in  Tokyo,  and  no 
winter  Opera,"  he  said  lightly.  "We  have  to  amuse 
one  another,  and  the  Glider  is  by  way  of  contributing 
my  share  of  the  entertainment.  It  is  certainly  an 
uplifting  performance."  He  smiled,  but  she  shook 
her  head. 

"Ah,"  she  said,  "I  know!  I  was  at  Fort  Logan 
last  summer  the  day  Lieutenant  Whitney  was  killed. 
I  saw  it." 

The  smile  had  faded  and  her  eyes  had  just  the 
95 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

look  he  had  so  often  fancied  lay  in  those  eyes  he  had 
been  used  to  gaze  at  across  the  burning  driftwood — 
his  "Lady  of  the  Many-Colored  Fires/'  He  caught 
himself  longing  to  know  that  they  would  mist  and 
soften  if  he  too  should  some  day  come  to  grief  in 
such  sudden  fashion.  They  were  wholly  wonderful 
eyes !  He  had  noted  them  even  in  the  instant  when 
he  had  snatched  her  from  the  piazza — from  the 
danger  into  which  his  cavalier  singing  had  called 
her. 

"How  brazen  you  must  have  thought  it!"  he  ex- 
claimed. "My  impromptu  solo,  I  mean.  I  hardly 
know  how  I  came  to  do  it.  I  suppose  it  was  the 
moonlight  (it  does  make  people  idiotic  sometimes, 
you  know,  in  the  tropics !)  and  then  what  you  played 
— that  dear  old  song!  I  used  to  sing  it  years  ago. 
It  reminded  me — " 

"Yes—?" 

"Of  the  last  evening  at  college.  It  was  a  night 
like  this,  though  not  so  lovely.  I  sang  it  then — my 
last  college  solo." 

"Your  last?"  She  was  leaning  toward  him,  her 
lips  parted,  her  eyes  bright  on  his  face. 

"Yes,"  he  said.    "I  left  town  the  next  day." 

Her  eyes  fell.  She  turned  half  away,  and  put  a 
hand  to  her  cheek.  "Oh,"  she  said  vaguely.  "Of 
course." 

"But  it  was  brazen,"  he  finished  lamely.  "  I 
promise  never  to  do  it  again." 

96 


IN  A  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS 

The  breath  of  the  night  was  coolly  sweet.  It 
hovered  about  them,  mingled  of  all  the  musky  winds 
and  flower-months  of  Eden.  A  dulled,  weird  sound 
from  the  street  reached  their  ears — the  monotonous 
hand-tapping  of  a  small,  shallow  drum. 

"Some  Buddhist  devotee,"  he  said,  "making  a 
pious  round  of  holy  places.  He  is  stalking  along  in 
a  dingy,  white  cotton  robe  with  red  characters 
stamped  all  over  it — one  from  each  shrine  he  has 
visited — and  here  and  there  in  a  doorway  he  will 
stop  to  chant  a  prayer  in  return  for  a  handful  of 
rice." 

"How  strange !  It  doesn't  seem  to  belong,  some- 
how, with  the  telegraph  wires  and  the  trolley  cars. 
Japan  is  full  of  such  contrasts,  isn't  it  ?  It  seems  to 
be  packed  with  mystery  and  secrets.  Listen !"  The 
deep,  resonant  boom  of  a  great  bell  at  a  distance  had 
throbbed  across  the  nearer  strumming.  "That  must 
be  in  some  old  temple.  Perhaps  the  man  with  the 
drum  is  going  there  to  worship.  Does  any  one  live 
in  the  temples?  The  priests  do,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,"  he  answered.  "Sometimes  other  people 
do,  too.  I  know  of  a  foreigner  who  lives  in  one." 

"What  is  he?    European?" 

"No  one  knows.  He  has  lived  there  fifteen  years. 
He  calls  himself  Aloysius  Thorn.  I  used  to  think 
he  must  be  an  American,  for  in  the  Chancery  safe 
there  is  an  envelope  bearing  his  name  and  the  direc- 
tion that  it  be  opened  after  his  death.  It  has  been 

97 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

there  a  long  time,  for  the  paper  is  yellow  with  age. 
No  doubt  it  was  put  there  by  some  former  Chief-of- 
Mission  at  his  request.  He  has  nothing  to  do  with 
other  foreigners;  as  a  rule  he  won't  even  speak  to 
them.  He  is  something  of  a  curiosity.  He  knows 
some  lost  secret  about  gold-lacquer,  they  say." 

"Is  he  young?" 

"No." 

"Married?" 

"Oh,  no!  He  lives  quite  alone.  He  has  one  of 
the  loveliest  private  gardens  in  the  city.  Sometimes 
one  doesn't  see  him  for  months,  but  he  is  here  now." 

She  was  silent,  while  he  looked  again  at  the  white 
toe  of  the  slipper  peeping  from  a  gauzy  hem.  The 
silence  seemed  to  him  an  added  bond  between  them. 
The  moon,  tilting  its  slim  sickle  along  the  solemn 
range  of  western  hills,  touched  their  jagged  contour 
with  a  shimmering  radiance  and  edged  with  silver 
the  vast  white  apparition  towering,  filmily  exquisite, 
above  them,  a  solitary  snowy  cone,  hovering  wraith- 
like  between  earth  and  sky.  The  horizon  opposite 
was  deep  violet,  crowded  with  tiny  stars,  like  green- 
gilt  coals.  In  the  quiet  a  drowsy  crow  croaked  husk- 
ily from  the  hillside.  Barbara  looked  through  dreamy 
eyes. 

"It  can't  always  be  so  beautiful!"  she  said  at 
length.  "Nothing  could,  I  am  sure." 

"No,  indeed,"  he  agreed  cheerfully.  "There  are 
times  when,  as  my  number-one  boy  says,  'honorable 

98 


IN  A  GARDEN  OF  DREAMS 

weather  are  disgust'  In  June  the  nubai,  the  rainy 
season,  is  due.  It  will  pour  buckets  for  three  weeks 
without  a  stop  and  frogs  will  sing  dulcet  songs  in  the 
streets.  In  July  your  head  feels  as  if  a  red-hot 
feather  pillow  had  been  stuffed  into  your  skull  and 
everybody  moves  to  Chuzenji  or  Kamakura.  If  it 
weren't  for  that,  and  an  occasional  dust-storm  in 
the  winter,  and  the  centillions  of  mosquitoes,  and  a 
weekly  earthquake  or  two,  we  wouldn't  half  appreci- 
ate this!"  He  made  a  wide  gesture. 

"Yet  now,"  she  said  softly,  "it  seems  too  lovely  to 
be  real !  I  shall  wake  presently  to  find  myself  in  my 
berth  on  the  Tenyo  Mam  with  Japan  two  or  three 
days  off." 

He  fell  into  her  mood.  "We  are  both  asleep. 
That  was  why  the  dog  vanished  so  queerly.  Dream- 
dogs  always  do.  And  I  don't  wonder  at  my  singing, 
either.  People  do  exactly  what  they  shouldn't  when 
they  are  asleep.  But  no!  I  really  don't  like  the 
dream  version  at  all.  I  want  this  to  be  true." 

"Why?" 

Her  tone  was  low,  but  it  made  him  tingle.  A  sud- 
den melee  of  daring,  delicious  impulses  swept  over 
him.  "Because  I  have  dreamed  too  much,"  he  said, 
in  as  low  a  voice.  "Here  in  the  East  the  habit  grows 
on  one;  we  dream  of  what  all  the  beauty  somehow 
misses — for  us.  But  to-night,  at  least,  is  real.  I 
shall  have  it  to  remember  when  you  have  gone,  as  I 
— I  suppose  you  will  be  soon." 

99 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

She  leaned  out  and  picked  a  slender  maple-leaf 
from  a  branch  that  came  in  through  the  open  side  of 
the  pagoda,  and,  holding  it  in  her  fingers,  turned  to- 
ward him.  Her  lips  were  parted,  as  if  to  speak.  But 
suddenly  she  tossed  it  from  her,  rose  and  shook  out 
her  skirts  with  a  laugh.  Carriage-wheels  were  roll- 
ing up  the  drive  from  the  lower  gate, 

"Thank  you !"  she  cried  gaily.  "But  no  hint  shall 
move  me.  I  warn  you  that  I  intend  to  stay  a  long 
time!" 

In  the  lighted  doorway,  as  Patricia  and  her  mother 
stepped  from  the  carriage,  she  swept  him  a  curtsey. 

"Honorably  deign  to  accept  my  thanks,"  she  said, 
"for  augustly  saving  my  insignificant  life!  And 
now,  perhaps,  we  can  be  properly  introduced  !" 


100 


CHAPTER  XI 

ISHIKICHI 

UNDER  the  frail  moon  that  touched  the  Em- 
bassy garden  to  such  beauty,  Haru  walked 
home  to  the  house  "so-o-o  small,  an'  gar- 
den 'bout  such  big"  in  the  Street-of-Prayer-to-the- 
Gods. 

On  Reinanzaka  Hill  the  shadows  were  iris-heart- 
ed. From  its  high-walled  gardens  of  the  great  came 
no  glimpses  of  phantom-lighted  shoji,  no  sound  of 
vibrant  strings  from  tea-houses  nor  gleams  of  paint- 
ed lips  and  fingers  of  geisha. 

Haru  carried  a  paper-lantern  tied  to  the  end  of 
a  short  wand,  but  it  was  not  dark  enough  to  need 
its  light,  and  as  she  walked,  she  swung  it  in  grace- 
ful circles.  She  heard  a  dove  sobbing  its  low  owas! 
owas!  and  once  a  crow  flapped  its  sleepy  way  above 
her,  uttering  its  harsh  note,  which,  from  some 
subtlety  of  suggestion  hidden  from  the  western 
mind,  the  Japanese  liken  to  the  accents  of  love.  It 
startled  her  for  a  second;  then  she  began  to  sing, 
under  her  breath,  to  the  tune  of  her  clacking  geta, 
a  ditty  of  her  childhood : 

101 


"Karasu,  Karasu!  "Crow,  crow, 

Kanzaburo!  Kanzaburo! 

Oya  no  on  wo —  Forget  not  the  virtue 

Wasurena  yo!"  Of  your  honorable  parents." 

On  the  crest  of  the  hill,  by  the  Street-of-Holly- 
hocks,  a  wall  opened  in  a  huge  gate  of  heavy  bur- 
nished beams  studded  with  great  iron  rivet-heads. 
Here  resided  no  less  a  personage  than  an  Imperial 
Princess.  Beside  the  gate  stood  a  conical  sentry- 
box,  in  which  all  day,  while  the  gate  was  open,  stood 
a  soldier  of  the  Household  Guards.  The  box  was 
empty  now. 

Opposite  the  gate,  a  hedged  lane  opened,  into 
which  she  turned,  and  presently  the  song  ceased. 
She  had  come  to  the  newly  built  Chapel.  Her 
father's  name  was  on  the  household  list  of  the  temple 
across  the  way,  but  she  herself  walked  each  Sunday 
to  Ts'kiji,  to  attend  the  bishop's  Japanese  service  in 
the  Cathedral.  When,  influenced  by  a  school-mate, 
she  had  wished  to  become  a  Christian,  the  old  samu- 
rai had  interposed  no  objection.  With  the  broad 
tolerance  of  the  esoteric  Buddhist,  to  whom  all  pure 
faiths  are  good,  he  had  allowed  her  to  choose  for 
herself.  She  had  grown  to  love  the  strangely  new 
and  beautiful  worship  with  its  singing,  its  service 
in  a  tongue  that  she  could  understand,  its  Bible 
filled  with  marvelous  stories  of  old  heroes,  and  with 
vivid  imagery  like  that  of  the  Kojiki,  the  "Record 

102 


ISHIKICHI 

of  Ancient  Matters"  or  the  Man-yoshu,  the  "Collec- 
tion of  a  Myriad  Leaves,"  over  whose  archaic  char- 
acters her  father  was  always  poring.  She  had  ceased 
to  visit  the  temple,  but  otherwise  the  change  had 
made  little  difference  in  her  placid  life.  With  the 
simplicity  with  which  the  Japanese  of  to-day  kneels 
with  equal  faith  before  a  plain  Shinto  shrine  and  a 
golden  altar  of  Buddha,  she  had  continued  the  daily 
home  observances.  Each  morning  she  cleaned  the 
butsn-dan — refilled  its  tiny  lamp  with  vegetable  oil, 
freshened  its  incense-cup  and  water  bowl,  and  dusted 
its  golden  shrine  of  Kwan-on  which  held  the  scroll 
inscribed  with  the  spirit  names  of  a  hundred  ances- 
tors, and  the  ihai,  or  mortuary  tablet,  of  her  dead 
mother.  Though  she  no  longer  prayed  before  it,  it 
still  signified  to  her  the  invisible  haunting  of  the 
dead — the  continuing  loving  presence  of  that  mother 
who  waited  for  her  in  the  Meidoland. 

For  many  days  Haru  had  watched  the  progress  of 
the  Chapel  building.  The  Cathedral  was  a  good  two 
miles  distant,  but  this  was  near  her  home ;  here  she 
would  be  able  to  attend  more  than  the  weekly  Sun- 
day service.  To-night,  as  she  looked  at  the  cross 
shining  in  the  moonlight,  she  thought  it  very  beauti- 
ful. A  tiny  symbol  like  it,  made  of  white  enamel, 
was  hung  on  a  little  chain  about  her  neck.  It  had 
been  given  her  by  the  bishop  the  day  of  her  confirma- 
tion. She  drew  this  out  and  swung  it  about  her 
finger  as  she  walked  on. 

103 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

In  the  Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods  were  no  huge 
and  gloomy  compounds.  It  was  a  roadway  of 
humbler  shops  and  homes,  bordered  with  mazes  of 
lantern  fire,  and  lively  with  pedestrians.  At  a 
meager  shop,  pitifully  small,  whose  shoji  were  wide 
open,  Haru  paused.  A  smoky  oil  lamp  swung  from 
the  ceiling,  and  under  its  glow,  a  woman  knelt  on  the 
worn  tatame.  Beside  her,  on  a  pillow,  lay  a  new- 
born baby,  and  she  was  soothing  its  slumber  by  soft- 
ly beating  a  tiny  drum  close  to  its  ear.  She  nodded 
and  smiled  to  Haru's  salutation. 

"Hal!  O jo-San,"  she  said.  "Go  kigen  yo!  Deign 
augustly  to  enter." 

"Honorable  thanks/'  responded  Haru,  "but  my 
father  awaits  my  unworthy  return.  Domo!  Aka- 
San  des'ka?  So  this  is  Miss  Baby!  Ishikichi  will 
have  a  new  comrade  in  this  little  sister." 

"Poison  not  your  serene  mind  with  contemplation 
of  my  uncomely  last-sent  one!''  said  the  woman, 
pridefully  tilting  the  pillow  so  as  to  show  the  tiny, 
vacuous  face.  "Are  not  its  hands  degradedly  well- 
formed?" 

"Wonderfully  beyond  saying !  The  father  is  still 
exaltedly  ill  ?" 

"It  is  indeed  so !  I  have  not  failed  to  sprinkle  the 
holy  water  over  Jizo,  nor  to  present  the  straw  san- 
dals to  the  Guardians-of-the-Gate.  Also  I  have 
rubbed  each  day  the  breast  of  the  health-god;  yet 
O-Binzuru  does  not  harken.  Doubtless  it  is  because 

104 


ISHIKICHI 

of  some  sin  committed  by  my  husband  in  a  previous 
existence !  I  have  not  knowledge  of  your  Christian 
God,  or  I  would  make  my  worthless  sacrifices  also 
to  Him." 

"He  heals  the  sick,"  said  Haru,  "but  He  augustly 
loves  not  sacrifice — as  He  exaltedly  did  in  olden 
time,"  she  hastily  supplemented,  recalling  certain 
readings  from  the  Old  Testament. 

"The  gods  of  Nippon  divinely  change  not  their 
habit,"  returned  the  woman.  "Also  my  vile  intellect 
can  not  comprehend  why  the  foreigners'  God  should 
illustriously  concern  Himself  with  the  things  of  an- 
other land." 

"The  Christian  Divinity,"  said  Haru,  "is  a  God  of 
all  lands  and  all  peoples." 

The  other  mused.  "It  passes  in  my  degraded  mind 
that  He,  then,  would  lack  a  sublime  all-sympathy  for 
our  Kingdom-of-Slender-Swords.  You  are  trans- 
cendently  young,  O jo-San,  but  I  am  thirty-two,  and 
I  hold  by  the  gods  of  my  ancestors." 

"Honorably  present  my  greetings  to  your  hus- 
band," Haru  said,  as  she  bowed  her  adieu.  "May 
his  exalted  person  soon  attain  divine  health!  To- 
morrow I  will  send  another  book  for  him  to  read." 

The  woman  watched  her  go,  with  a  smile  on  her 
tired  face — the  Japanese  smile  that  covers  so  many 
things.  She  looked  at  the  baby's  face  on  the  pillow. 
"Praise  Shaka,"  she  said  aloud,  "there  is  millet  yet 
for  another  week.  Then  we  must  give  up  the  shop. 

105 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

Well — I  can  play  the  samisen,  and  the  gods  are  not 
dead!" 

Behind  her  a  diminutive  figure  had  lifted  himself 
upright  from  a  f'ton.  He  came  forward  from  the 
gloom,  his  single  sleeping-robe  trailing  comically 
and  his  great  black  eyes  round  and  serious.  "Why 
must  we  give  up  the  shop,  honorable  mother?" 

"Go  to  sleep,  Ishikichi,"  said  his  mother.  "Trouble 
me  not  so  late  with  your  rude  prattle." 

"But  why,  Okka-San?" 

"Because  rent-money  exists  not,  small  pigeon," 
she  answered  gently.  "So  long  as  we  have  ignobly 
lived  here,  we  have  paid  the  banto  who  brings  his 
joy-giving  presence  on  the  first  of  each  month.  Now 
we  have  no  more  money  and  can  not  pay." 

"Why  have  we  no  more  money?'' 

"Because  the  honorable  father  is  sick  and  you  are 
too  small  to  earn.  But  let  it  not  trouble  your  heart, 
for  the  gods  are  good.  See — we  have  almost  waked 
the  Aka-San!" 

She  bent  over  the  pillow  and  began  again  the  elfin 
drumming  at  the  infant's  ear.  But  Ishikichi  lay 
open-eyed  on  his  f'ton,  his  baby  mind  grappling 
with  a  new  and  painful  wonder. 


106 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN   THE  STREET-OF-PRAYER-TO-THE-GODS 

HARU  unlatched  a  gate  across  which  twisted 
a  plum-branch  with  tarnished,  silver  bark. 
It  hid  a  garden  so  tiny  that  it  was  scarcely 
more  than  a  rounded  boulder  set  in  moss,  with  a 
clump  of  golden  icho  shrubs.  Across  the  path,  high 
in  air,  were  stretched  giant  webs  in  whose  centers 
hung  black  spiders  as  big  as  Japanese  sparrows. 
Beyond  was  a  low  doorway,  shaded  by  a  gnarled  kiri 
tree.  The  thin,  white  rice-paper  pasted  behind  the 
bars  of  its  sliding  grill  shone  goldenly  with  the  can- 
dle-light within.  She  rang  a  bell  which  hung  from 
a  cord. 

"Hai-ai-ai-ai-ee!"  sounded  a  long-drawn  voice 
from  within,  and  in  a  moment  a  little  maid  slid  back 
the  shoji  and  bobbed  over  to  the  threshold. 

Her  mistress  stepped  from  her  gcta  into  the  small 
anteroom.  Here  the  floor  was  covered  with  soft 
tatame, — the  thick,  springy  rice-straw  mats  which, 
in  Japan,  play  the  part  of  carpets — and  a  bronze 
vase  on  a  low  lacquer  stool  held  a  branch  of  dark 
ground-pine  and  a  single  white  lily.  A  voice  was 

107 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

audible,  reciting  in  a  droning  monotone.  It 
stopped  suddenly  and  called  Haru's  name. 

She  answered  instantly,  and  parting  the  panels, 
passed  into  the  next  room,  where  her  father  sat  on 
his  mat  reading  in  the  faint  soft  light  of  an  andon. 
He  was  an  old  man,  with  white  head  strongly 
poised  on  gaunt  shoulders.  Broken  in  fortune  and 
in  health,  the  spirit  of  the  samurai  burned  inex- 
tinguishably in  the  fire  of  his  sunken  eyes.  He 
took  her  hand  and  drew  her  down  beside  him.  She 
knew  what  was  in  his  mind. 

"Be  no  longer  troubled,"  she  said.  "The  Amer- 
ican 0 jo-San  is  as  lovely  as  Ama-terasu,  the  Sun 
Goddess,  and  as  kind  as  she  is  beautiful.  I  shall  be 
happy  to  be  each  day  with  her." 

"That  is  good,"  he  said.  "Yet  I  take  no  joy 
from  it.  You  are  the  last  of  a  family  that  for  a 
thousand  seasons  has  served  none  save  its  Emperor 
and  its  daimyo." 

"I  am  no  servant,"  she  answered  quickly. 
"Rather  am  I,  in  sort,  a  companion  to  the  0  jo-San, 
to  offer  her  my  tasteless  conversation  and  somewhat 
to  go  about  with  her  in  this  unfamiliar  city.  It  is 
an  honorable  way  of  acquiring  gain,  and  thus  I 
may  unworthily  pay  my  support,  for  which  now 
from  time  to  time  you  are  brought  to  sell  the  price- 
less classics  in  which  your  soul  exaltedly  delights." 

His  face  softened.  "I  have  lived  too  long,"  he 
said.  "My  hand  is  palsied — I,  a  two-sword  man 

1 08 


STREET-OF-PRAYER-TO-THE-GODS 

of  the  old  clan!  I  should  have  died  in  the  war, 
fighting  for  Nippon  and  my  Emperor.  But  even 
then  was  I  too  dishonorably  old!  Why  did  not 
the  gods  grant  me  a  son? — me,  who  wearied  them 
with  my  sacrifices?" 

She  did  not  answer  for  a  moment.  Nothing  in 
her  cried  out  at  this  reiterated  complaint,  for  she 
was  of  the  same  blood.  If  she  had  been  a  son,  that 
wound  in  her  father's  heart  had  been  healed. 
Through  her  arm  the  family  would  have  fought. 
Her  glorious  death-name  might  even  now  be  writ- 
ten on  an  thai  on  the  Buddha-shelf,  her  glad  soul 
swelling  the  numbers  of  that  ghostly  legion  whose 
spiritual  force  was  the  true  vitality  of  her  nation. 

"Perhaps  that,  too,  might  be,"  she  said  presently 
in  a  low  voice.  "Should  I  augustly  marry  one  not 
of  too  exalted  a  station,  he  could  receive  adoption 
into  our  family." 

He  looked  into  her  deeply  flushing  face.  "You 
think  of  the  Lieutenant  Ishida  Hetaro,"  he  said. 
"It  is  true  that  the  go-between  has  already  deigned 
to  sit  on  my  hard  mats.  He  is,  I  think,  in  every 
way  worthy  of  our  house.  I  would  rather  he  were 
in  the  field,  with  a  sword  in  his  hand — I  know  not 
much  of  this  'Secret  Service.'  What  are  his  present 
duties?  Doubtless" — with  a  spark  of  mischief  in 
his  hollow,  old  eyes — "you  are  better  informed 
than  I." 

"He  is  in  the  household  of  one  named  Bersonin, 
109 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

a  man-mountain  like  our  wrestlers,  whose  service 
Japan  pays  with  a  wage." 

His  seamed  face  clouded.  "To  cunningly  watch 
the  foreigner's  incomings  and  his  outgoings,  and 
make  august  report  to  the  Board  of  Extraordinary 
Information,"  he  said,  with  a  trace  of  bitterness. 
"To  play  the  clod  when  one  is  all  eyes  and  ears. 
Honorable  it  is,  no  doubt,  yet  to  my  old  palate 
it  savors  too  much  of  the  actor  strutting  on 
the  circular  stage.  But  times  change,  and  if,  to 
live,  we  must  ape  the  foreigners,  why,  we  must 
borrow  their  ways  till  such  time — the  gods  grant  it 
be  soon! — when  we  can  throw  them  on  the  dust 
heap.  And  what  am  I  to  set  my  debased  ignorance 
against  my  Princes  and  my  Emperor !"  He  paused 
a  moment  and  sighed.  "Ishida  is  well  esteemed," 
he  continued  presently.  "He  has  dwelt  in  America 
and  learned  its  tongue — a  necessity,  it  seems,  in 
these  topsy-turvy  times.  Yet,  as  for  marriage, 
waiting  still  must  be.  These  are  evil  days  for  us, 
my  child.  From  whence  would  come  the  gifts  which 
must  be  sent  before  the  bride,  to  the  husband's 
house?  Your  mother" — he  paused  and  bowed 
deeply  toward  the  golden  butsu-dan  in  its  alcove — 
"may  she  rest  on  the  lotos-terrace  of  Amida! — 
came  to  my  poor  house  with  a  train  of  coolies  bear- 
ing lacquer  chests :  silken  f'ton,  kinwno  as  soft  and 
filmy  as  mist,  gowns  of  cloth  and  of  cotton,  cush- 
ions of  gold  and  silver  patternings.  jeweled  girdles, 

no 


STREET-OF-PRAYER-TO-THE-GODS 

velvet  sandals  and  all  lovely  garniture.  Shall  her 
daughter  be  sent  to  a  husband  with  a  chest  of  rags  ? 
No,  no!" 

She  leaned  her  dark  head  against  his  blue-clad 
shoulder  and  drew  the  scroll  from  his  trembling 
fingers. 

"I  wind  your  words  about  my  heart,"  she  said. 
"Waiting  is  best.  Perhaps  the  evil  times  will  with- 
draw. I  have  prayed  to  the  Christian  God  concern- 
ing it.  But  your  eyes  are  augustly  wearied.  Let 
me  read  to  you  a  while." 

He  settled  himself  back  on  the  mat,  his  gaunt 
hands  buried  in  his  sleeves,  and,  snuffing  the  wick 
in  the  andon,  she  began  to  read  the  archaic  "grass- 
writing."  It  was  the  Shundai  Zatsuwa  of  Kyuso 
Moro. 

"Be  not  samurai  through  the  wearing  of  two 
swords,  but  day  and  night  have  a  care  to  bring  no 
reproach  on  the  name.  When  you  cross  your 
threshold  and  pass  out  through  the  gate,  go  as  one 
who  shall  never  return  again.  Thus  shall  you  be 
ready  for  every  adventure.  The  Buddhist  is  for 
ever  to  remember  the  five  commandments  and  the 
samurai  the  laws  of  chivalry. 

"All  born  as  samurai,  men  and  women,  are 
taught  from  childhood  that  fidelity  must  never  be 
forgotten.  And  woman  is  ever  taught  that  this, 
with  submission,  is  her  chief  duty.  If  in  unex- 

iii 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

pected  strait  her  weak  heart   forsakes  fidelity,  all 
her  other  virtues  will  not  atone. 

"Samurai,  men  and  women,  the  young  and  the 
old,  regulate  their  conduct  according  to  the  pre- 
cepts of  Bushido,  and  a  samurai,  without  hesitation, 
sacrifices  life  and  family  for  lord  and  country." 


112 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  WHORLS  OF  YELLOW  DUST 

TTVDR  a  long  time  in  her  blue  and  white  room 
I  Barbara  lay  awake,  listening  to  the  incessant 
chorus  that  came  on  the  deepening  mystery  of 
the  dark :  the  rustle  of  the  pine-needles  outside  her 
window,  the  kiri-kiri-kiri-kiri  of  a  night-cricket  on 
the  sill,  and  the  wavering  chant  of  a  toiling  coolie 
keeping  time  to  the  thrust  of  his  body  as  he  hauled 
his  heavy  cart.  The  shadow  of  a  twisted  pine- 
branch  crossed  one  of  the  windows,  and  in  the 
infiltering  moonlight  she  could  see  the  yellow  gleam 
of  the  gold-lacquer  Buddha  on  the  Sendai  chest. 

She  could  imagine  it  the  same  image  she  had 
found  as  a  little  girl  in  the  garret,  and  had  made 
her  pet  delight.  For  an  instant  she  seemed  to  be 
once  more  a  child  seated  on  her  low  stool  before 
it,  her  hands  tight-clasped,  looking  up  into  its  im- 
mobile countenance,  half-hoping,  half-fearing  those 
carven  lips  would  speak.  On  the  wings  of  this 
sensation  came  a  childish  memory  of  a  day  when 
her  aunt  had  found  her  thus  and  had  thought  her 
praying  to  it.  She  remembered  the  look  of  frozen 
horror  on  her  aunt's  face  and  her  own  helpless  mor- 
tification. For  she  did  not  know  how  to  explain. 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

She  had  had  to  write  a  verse  from  the  Bible  fifty 
times  in  her  copybook : 

Thou  shalt  have  no  other  gods  before  Me. 

And  she  had  had  to  do  half  of  them  over  because  she 
had  forgotten  the  capital  M.  That  day  her  treasure 
had  disappeared,  and  she  had  never  seen  it  again. 

The  glimmering  figure  in  the  dark  made  her 
think,  too,  of  the  man  of  whom  Daunt  had  told  her, 
who  shunned  his  own  race,  hiding  himself  for  years 
and  years  in  a  Japanese  temple,  with  its  painted 
dragon  carvings,  glowing  candles  and  smoking  cen- 
sers. The  incense  from  them  seemed  now  to  be 
filling  all  the  night  with  odors  rich  and  alluring, 
whispering  of  things  mysterious  and  confined. 
Striking  across  the  lesser  sounds  she  could  hear 
at  intervals  the  flute  of  a  blind  masseur,  and  nearer, 
in  the  Embassy  grounds,  the  recurrent  signal  of  a 
patroling  night  watchman:  three  strokes  of  one 
hard,  wooden  stick  upon  another,  like  a  high,  mel- 
low note  of  a  xilophone. 

This  sounded  a  little  like  a  ship's  bell — striking 
on  a  white  yacht,  whose  owner  was  visiting  the 
ancient  capital,  Nara.  He  would  appear  before  long, 
and  she  knew  what  he  would  say,  and  what  he 
would  want  her  to  say  to  him.  She  felt  somehow 
guilty,  with  a  sorry  though  painless  compunction. 
The  man  on  the  steamer  that  morning  had  spoken 
of  a  younger  brother  who  was  in  Japan,  "going  the 

114 


THE  WHORLS  OF  YELLOW  DUST 

pace."  Phil — she  had  often  heard  Austen  Ware 
speak  of  him.  Perhaps  he  had  only  come  over  to 
keep  the  other  out  of  mischief.  She  told  herself  this 
a  second  time,  because  it  gave  her  a  drowsy  satisfac- 
tion, though  she  knew  it  was  not  so.  She  had  always 
pictured  Phil  as  "fast,"  and  she  wondered  sleepily 
what  the  word  meant  here  in  the  orient,  where  there 
were  no  theater  suppers,  and  where  men  probably 
played  fan-tan — no,  that  was  Chinese — or  some 
other  queer  game  instead  of  poker — unless  they 
.  .  .  had  aeroplanes. 

The  bell  of  the  distant  temple,  which  she  had 
heard  in  the  garden,  boomed  softly,  and  the  amma's 
flute  sounded  again  its  piercing,  plaintive  double- 
note.  The  two  sounds  began  to  weave  together  with 
a  sense  of  unreality,  dreamy,  occult,  incommunica- 
ble. So  at  length  Barbara  slept,  fitfully,  the  frag- 
ments of  that  lavish  day  falling  into  a  bizarre  mosaic, 
in  which  strange  figures  mingled  uncannily. 

She  knew  them  for  visions,  and  to  avoid  them 
climbed  a  grassy  hill  to  a  gray  old  temple  in  which 
she  saw  her  father  seated  cross-legged  on  a  huge 
lotos-flower.  She  knew  him  because  his  face  was  just 
like  the  face  in  the  locket  she  wore.  She  called  out 
and  ran  toward  him,  but  it  was  only  a  great  gold- 
lacquered  Buddha  with  candles  burning  around  it. 
She  ran  out  of  the  temple,  where  a  dog  pursued 
her  and  a  monstrous  man  with  a  pallid  face,  who 
sat  in  a  tree  full  of  cherry-blossoms,  threw  some- 
US 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

thing  at  her  which  suddenly  went  off  with  a  ter- 
rific explosion  and  blew  both  him  and  the  dog  into 
bits.  It  seemed  terrible,  but  she  could  only  laugh 
and  laugh,  because  somebody  held  her  tight  in  his 
arms  and  she  knew  that  nothing  could  frighten  her 
ever  any  more. 

And  on  the  tide  of  this  shy  comfort  she  drifted 
away  at  last  upon  a  deep  and  dreamless  sea. 

Later,  when  the  moon  had  set  and  only  the  faint 
starlight  lay  over  the  garden,  the  Ambassador  still 
sat  in  his  study,  thoughtfully  smoking  a  cigar.  On 
the  mantel,  under  a  glass  case,  was  a  model  of  a 
battle-ship.  Over  it  hung  a  traverse  drawing  of 
the  Panama  Canal  cuttings,  and  maps  and  framed 
photographs  looked  from  the  walls  between  the 
dark-toned  book-shelves.  The  floor  was  covered 
with  a  deep  crimson  rug  of  camel's-hair.  The 
shaded  reading-lamp  on  the  desk  threw  a  bright 
circle  of  light  on  an  open  volume  of  Treaties  at  his 
elbow. 

At  length  he  rose,  took  up  the  lamp,  and  ap- 
proached the  mantel.  He  stood  a  moment  looking 
thoughtfully  at  the  model  under  its  rounded  glass. 
It  was  built  to  scale,  and  complete  in  every  exterior 
detail,  from  the  pennant  at  its  head  to  the  tiny  black 
muzzles  that  peeped  from  its  open  casemates.  Two 
years  ago  America  had  sent  a  fleet  of  such  vessels 
to  circumnavigate  the  globe.  An  European  Squad- 

116 


THE  WHORLS  OF  YELLOW  DUST 

ron  of  even  deadlier  type  would  cast  anchor  the 
next  morning  in  those  waters.  Yet  now  Bersonin's 
phrase  rang  insistently  through  his  mind:  "Mere 
silly  shreds  of  steel!"  It  recurred  like  a  refrain, 
mixing  itself  with  the  expert's  curious  words  in 
the  study,  with  that  extraordinary  incident  of  the 
piazza — which  had  bred  a  stealthy  mistrust  that 
would  not  down. 

With  the  lamp  in  his  hand  he  opened  the  door 
into  the  hall  and  stood  listening  a  moment.  Save 
for  the  creaks  and  snappings  that  haunt  frame 
structures  in  a  land  of  rapid  decay,  the  house  was 
still.  He  entered  the  drawing-room,  noiselessly  un- 
did the  fastenings  of  a  French  window  and  stepped 
out  on  to  the  piazza.. 

There  he  threw  the  lamplight  about  him,  men- 
tally reconstructing  the  scene  of  two  hours  before. 
Here  he  himself  had  stood,  yonder  Bersonin,  and 
in  the  corner  the  dog — ten  feet  from  the  edge  of  the 
porch.  It  had  vanished  in  the  same  instant  that  he 
had  seen  it  leaping  straight  at  the  expert.  What 
was  it  Bersonin  had  taken  from  his  pocket?  A 
weapon  ?  And  where  had  the  hound  gone? 

He  stepped  forward  suddenly;  the  chair  which 
had  been  thrown  by  the  Japanese  boy  had  been  set 
upright,  but  beneath  it,  and  on  the  piazza  beyond, 
disposed  in  curious  wreaths  and  whorls,  like  those 
made  by  steel  filings  above  an  electro-magnet,  lay 
a  thick  sifting  pf  what  looked  like  reddish-yellow 

117 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

dust  He  stooped  and  took  up  some  in  his  fingers ; 
it  was  dry  and  impalpable,  of  an  extraordinary 
fineness. 

He  stood  looking  at  it  a  full  minute,  intent  with 
some  absorbed  and  disquieting  communing.  Then 
he  shook  his  broad  shoulders,  as  though  dismissing 
an  incredible  idea,  returned  the  lamp  to  the  study 
and  went  slowly  up  the  stair  to  his  room. 

But  he  was  not  sleeping  when  dawn  came,  gray 
in  the  sky.  It  stole  pink-fingered  through  the  win- 
dow and  drew  rosy  lights  on  the  blank  wall  across 
which  strange  fancies  of  his  had  linked  themselves 
in  a  weird  processional.  It  crept  between  the  heavy 
curtains  of  the  study  below,  and  gilded  the  fittings 
of  the  little  battle-ship  on  the  mantel — as  though  to 
deck  it  in  crimson  bunting  like  its  mammoth  pro- 
totypes in  the  lower  bay. 

For  at  that  moment  the  Yokohama  Bund  was 
throbbing  with  the  safoos  of  great  guns  pealing 
a  salute.  The  water's  edge  was  lined  with  a  watch- 
ing crowd.  Files  of  marines  were  drawn  up  be- 
neath the  green-trimmed  arches  and  cutters  flying 
the  sun-flag  lay  at  the  wharf,  where  groups  of 
officers  stood  in  dress-uniform. 

Over  the  ledge  of  the  morning  was  spread  a 
filmy  curtain  of  damask  rose,  and  beneath  it,  into 
the  harbor,  like  a  broad  dotted  arrow-head,  was 
steaming  a  flock  of  black  battle-ships,  with  inky 
smoke  pouring  from  their  stacks. 

118 


CHAPTER    XIV 

WHEN  BARBARA  AWOKE 

WHEN  Barbara  awoke  next  morning  she 
lay  for  a  moment  staring  open-eyed  from 
her  big  pillow  at  the  white  wall  above, 
where  a  hanging-shelf  projected  to  guard  the 
sleeper  from  falling  plaster  in  earthquake.  The 
room  was  filled  with  a  soft  light  that  filtered  in 
through  the  split-bamboo  blinds.  Then  she  remem- 
bered :  it  was  her  first  whole  day  in  Japan. 

She  felt  full  of  a  gay  insouciance,  a  glad  light- 
ness of  joy  that  she  had  never  felt  before.  Slip- 
ping a  thin  rose-colored  robe  over  her  nightgown, 
she  threw  open  the  window  and  leaned  out.  The 
air  was  as  pure  and  clean  as  if  it  had  been  sieved 
through  silk,  and  she  breathed  it  with  long  inspira- 
tions. It  made  her  think  of  the  unredeemed  dirt  of 
other  countries,  the  sooty  air  of  crowded  factories, 
hardly  growing  foliage  and  unlovely  walls. 

The  Embassy  was  a  pretentious  frame  structure 
in  which  frequent  alterations  had  masked  an  orig- 
inal plan.  With  its  tall  porte-cochere,  its  long  nar- 
row L  which  served  as  Chancery,  the  smaller 
white  cottage  across  the  lawn  occupied  by  the  /Sec- 

119 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

retary  of  Embassy,  the  rambling  servants'  quarters 
and  stables,  it  suggested  some  fine  old  Virginia 
homestead,  transported  by  Aladdin's  genii  to  the 
heart  of  an  oriental  garden.  For  the  tiny  rock-knoll, 
with  its  single  twisted  pine-tree  in  front  of  the  main 
door,  the  wistaria  arbor  and  red  dwarf  maples,  the 
great  stone  lanterns,  the  miniature  lake  and  pebbled 
rivulet  spanned  by  its  arching  bridge — all  these 
were  Japanese.  In  the  early  morning  the  eerie 
witchery  of  the  night  was  gone,  but  the  sky  was  as 
deep  as  space  and  the  air  languid  with  the  perfume 
and  warmth  of  a  St.  Martin's  summer.  A  green- 
golden  glow  tinged  the  camelia  hedges  and  above 
them  the  long  cool  expanse  of  weather-boarding 
and  olive  blinds — like  a  carving  in  jade  and  old 
ivory. 

As  she  stood  there  bathed  in  the  sunlight,  her 
hands  dividing  the  curtains,  Barbara  made  a  gra- 
cious part  of  the  glimmering  setting.  Her  thick, 
ruddy  hair  sprang  curling  from  her  strongly 
modeled  forehead,  and  fell  about  her  white  shoul- 
ders, a  warm  reddish  mass  against  the  delicately 
tinted  curtain.  There  was  a  thoroughbred  straight- 
ness  in  the  lines  of  the  tall  figure,  in  the  curve  of  the 
cheek  and  the  round  directness  of  the  chin;  and 
her  eyes,  bent  on  the  lucent  green,  were  the  color 
of  brown  sea-water  under  sapphire  cloud-shadows. 

From  •  a  circle  of  evergreens  near  the  porte- 
cochere  a  white  flag-pole  rose  high  above  the  tree- 

120 


WHEN  BARBARA  AWOKE 

tops.  The  stars-and-stripes  floated  from  its  hal- 
yards, for  the  day  was  the  national  holiday  of  an 
European  power.  In  the  hedges  sparrows  were 
twittering,  and  in  a  plum-tree  a  uguisu — the  little 
Buddhist  bird  that  calls  the  sacred  name  of  the 
Sutras — was  warbling  his  sweet,  slow,  solemn  sylla- 
bles: "Ho-kek-yo!  Ho-kek-yo!"  A  gardener  was 
sweeping  the  pink  rain  of  cherry-petals  from  the 
paths  with  a  twig  broom,  the  long  sleeves  of  his  blue 
kimono  fluttering  in  the  yellow  sunshine,  and  in 
front  of  the  servants'  quarters  a  little  girl  in  flapping 
sandals  was  skipping  rope  with  a  chenille  fascinator. 
Beyond  the  wall  of  the  compound  Barbara  could  see 
the  street,  a  low  row  of  open  shops.  In  one,  a  num- 
ber of  men  and  girls,  sitting  on  flat  mats,  were 
making  bamboo  fans.  At  the  corner  stood  a 
round  well,  from  which  a  group  of  women,  bare- 
footed and  with  tucked-up  clothing,  were  drawing 
water  in  unpainted  wooden  buckets  with  polished 
brass  hoops,  and  beside  it,  under  a  dark  blue  awn- 
ing, a  man  and  woman  were  grinding  rice  in  a  hand- 
mill  made  of  two  heavy  stone  disks.  A  blue-and- 
white  figured  towel  was  bound  about  the  woman's 
head  against  the  fine  white  rice-dust.  Above  them, 
on  a  tiny  portico,  an  old  man,  with  the  calm,  benevo- 
lent face  of  a  porcelain  mandarin,  was  watering  an 
unbelievably-twisted  dwarf  plum  on  which  was  a 
single  bunch  of  blossoming.  At  the  side  of  the 
street  grew  a  gnarled  kiri  tree,  its  shambling  roots 

121 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

encroaching  on  the  roadway.  In  their  cleft  was  set 
a  wooden  Shinto  shrine  with  small  piles  of  pebbles 
before  it.  From  a  distance,  high  and  clear,  she 
heard  a  strain  of  bugles  from  some  squad  of  soldiers 
going  to  barracks,  or  perhaps  to  the  parade-ground, 
where,  she  remembered,  an  Imperial  Review  of 
Troops  was  to  be  held  that  morning. 

Barbara  started  suddenly,  to  see  on  the  lawn  just 
below  her  window,  a  figure  three  feet  high,  with  a 
round,  cropped  head,  gazing  at  her  from  a  solemn, 
inquiring  countenance.  He  wore  a  much-worn  but 
clean  kimono,  and  his  infantile  toes  clutched  the 
thongs  of  clogs  so  large  that  his  feet  seemed  to  be 
set  on  spacious  wooden  platforms.  The  youngster 
bent  double  and  staggeringly  righted  himself  with 
a  staccato  "O-hayo!" 

Barbara  gave  an  inarticulate  gasp ;  in  face  of  his 
somber  dignity  she  did  not  dare  to  laugh.  "How 
do  you  do?"  she  said.  "Do  you  live  here?" 

"No,"  he  replied.    "I  lives  in  a  other  houses." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Barbara,  aghast  at  his  com- 
mand of  English.  "What  is  your  name?'* 

"Ishikichi,"  he  said  succinctly. 

"And  will  you  tell  me  what  you  are  doing,  Ishi- 
kichi?" 

A  small  hand  from  behind  his  back  produced  a 
tiny  bamboo  cage  in  which  was  a  bell-cricket.  As 
he  held  it  out,  the  insect  chirped  like  an  elfin  cymbal. 
"Find  more  one,"  he  said  laconically. 

122 


WHEN  BARBARA  AWOKE 

"And  what  shall  you  do  with  them,  I  wonder." 
He  took  one  foot  from  its  clog  and  wriggled  bare 
toes  in  the  grass.     "Give  him  to  new  little  sister," 
he  said. 

"So  you  have  a  new  little  sister!"  exclaimed  Bar- 
bara. "How  fine  that  must  be !" 

^ 

A  glaze  of  something  like  disappointment  spread 
over  the  diminutive  face.  "Small  like,"  he  said. 
"More  better  want  a  brother  to  play  with  me." 

"Maybe  you  might  exchange  her  for  a  brother," 
she  hazarded,  but  the  cropped  head  shook  despond- 
ently : 

"I  think  no  can  now,"  he  said.  "We  have  use 
her  four  days." 

Barbara  laughed  outright,  a  peal  of  silvery  sound 
that  echoed  across  the  garden — then  suddenly  drew 
back.  A  man  on  horseback  was  passing  across  the 
drive  toward  the  main  gate  of  the  compound.  It 
was  Daunt,  bareheaded,  his  handsome  tanned  face 
flushed  with  exercise,  the  breeze  ruffling  his  moist, 
curling  hair.  She  flashed  him  a  smile  as  his  riding- 
crop  flew  to  his  brow  in  salute.  The  sun  glinted 
from  its  Damascene  handle,  wrought  into  the  long, 
grotesque  muzzle  of  a  fox.  Between  the  edges  of 
the  blue  silk  curtains  she  saw  him  turn  in  the  saddle 
to  look  back  before  he  disappeared. 

She  stood  peering  out  a  long  time  toward  the 
low  white  cottage  across  the  clipped  lawn.  The 
laughter  had  left  her  eyes,  and  gradually  over  her 

123 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

face  grew  a  wave  of  rich  color.  She  dropped  the 
curtain  and  caught  her  hands  to  her  cheeks.  For 
an  instant  she  had  seemed  to  feel  the  pressure  of 
strong  arms,  the  touch  of  coarse  tweed  vividly  rem- 
iniscent of  a  pipe. 

What  had  come  over  her  ?  The  one  day  that  had 
dawned  at  sea  in  golden  fire  and  died  in  crimson 
and  purple  over  a  file  of  convicts — the  dreaming 
night  with  its  temple  bell  striking  through  silver 
mist  and  violet  shadows — these  had  left  her  the 
same  Barbara  that  she  had  always  been.  But  some- 
where, somehow,  in  the  closed  gulf  between  the  then 
and  now,  something  new  and  strange  and  sweet  had 
waked  in  her — something  that  the  sound  of  a  voice 
in  the  garish  sunlight  had  started  into  clamorous 
reverberations. 

She  sat  down  suddenly  and  hid  her  face. 


124 


CHAPTER   XV 

A    FACE   IN   THE   CROWD 

THEY  rode  to  the  parade-ground — Barbara 
and  Patricia  with  the  Ambassador,  behind  his 
pair  of  Kentucky  grays — along  wide  streets 
grown  festive  overnight  and  buzzing  with  rick'sha 
and  pedestrians.     Every  gateway  held  crossed  flags 
bearing  the  blood-red  rising-sun,  and  colored  paper 
lanterns  were  swung  in  festoons  along  the  gaudy 
blocks  of  shops,  as  wide  open  as  tiers  of  cut  honey- 
comb. 

In  their  swift  flight  the  city  appeared  a  living  sea 
of  undulations,  of  immense  green  wastes  alternating 
with  humming  sections  of  trade,  of  abrupt,  cliff-like 
hills,  of  small  parks  that  were  masses  of  cherry- 
bloom  and  landscapes  of  weird  Japanese  beauty. 
Patricia  quoted  one  of  Haru's  quaint  sayings: 
"So-o-o  many  small  village  got  such  a  lonesome- 
ness  an'  come  more  closer  together.  Tha's  the  way 
Tokyo  born."  Occasionally  the  Ambassador 
pointed  out  the  stately  palace  of  some  influential 
noble,  or  the  amorphous,  depressing  front  of  the 
foreign-style  stucco  residence  of  some  statesman, 

I25 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

built  in  that  different  period  when  the  empire  took 
first  steps  in  the  path  of  world-powers,  with  its  low, 
graceful  Japanese  portion  beside  it. 

Everywhere  Barbara  was  conscious  of  the  flutter 
of  children — of  little  girls  whose  dress  and  hair 
showed  a  pervasive  sense  of  care  and  adornment; 
of  faces  neither  gay  nor  sad  looking  from  latticed 
windows  that  hung  above  open  gutters  of  sluggish 
ooze;  of  frail  balconies  adorned  with  growing  flow- 
ers or  miniature  gardens  set  in  earthen  trays;  of 
doorways  hung  with  soft-fringed,  rice-straw  ropes 
and  dotted  with  paper  charms — the  talismanic 
o-fuda  seen  on  every  hand  in  Japan.  In  Yokohama 
what  had  struck  her  most  had  been  the  curious  com- 
posite, the  jumbled  dissonance  of  East  and  West. 
Here  was  a  new  impression ;  this  was  real  Japan,  but 
a  Japan  that,  if  it  had  taken  on  western  hues,  had 
everywhere  qualified  them  by  subtle  variations,  them- 
selves oriental.  Past  the  carriage  whirled  landaus 
bearing  Japanese  grandes  dames  in  native  dress, 
with  pomade-stiff  coiffures  against  which  their  rice- 
powdered  faces  made  a  ghastly  contrast;  between 
the  rear  springs  of  each  vehicle  was  fixed  a  round 
flat  pommel  on  which  a  runner  stood,  balancing 
himself  to  the  swift  movement.  A  Japanese  mili- 
tary officer  in  khaki,  with  a  row  of  decorations  on 
his  breast,  rode  by  on  a  horse  too  big  for  him,  at 
a  jingling  trot.  Two  soldiers  passing  afoot,  faced 
sidewise  and  their  Heavy  cowhide  heels  came  to- 

126 


A  FACE  IN  THE  CROWD 

gether  with  a  thud,  as  they  saluted.     Their  arms 
had  the  jerky  precision  of  a  mechanical  toy. 

Through  all  there  seemed  to  Barbara  to  strike  a 
sense  of  the  tenacity  of  the  old,  of  the  stubborn 
persistence  of  type,  as  though  eyes  behind  a  mask 
looked  grimly  at  the  mirror's  reflection  of  some  out- 
landish and  but  half-accustomed  masquerade.  It 
was  the  shadow  of  the  old  Japan  of  castes  and  spies 
and  censors,  of  homage  and  hara-kiri,  of  punctilio 
and  porcelain.  Trolley  cars  rumbled  past ;  skeins  of 
telegraph  wire  spun  across  the  vision.  Yet  when 
stone  wall  gaped  or  green  hedge  opened,  it  was  to 
reveal  the  curving  tops  of  Buddhist  torii  in  quaint 
vistas  of  straight-boled  trees,  gliding  Tartar  con- 
tours of  roof  between  clumps  of  palm,  or  bamboo 
thickets  with  shadows  as  black  as  ink;  while  from 
the  lazy  scum  of  the  wide,  moat-like,  stone  gutters, 
open  to  the  all-putrefying  sun,  rose  thick,  marshy 
odors  suggesting  the  vast  languor  of  a  land  more 
ancient  than  Egypt  and  Nineveh. 

The  carriage  stopped  abruptly  at  a  cross  street. 
A  Shinto  funeral  cortege  was  passing.  Twelve 
bearers,  six  on  each  side,  clad  in  mourning  houri  of 
pure  white,  bore  on  their  shoulders  the  hearse,  like 
a  shrine,  built  of  clean  unpainted  wood,  beautifully 
grained,  and  with  carven  roof  and  curtains  of  green 
and  gold  brocade.  Priests  in  yellow  robes,  with 
curved  gauze  caps  and  stoles  of  scarlet  and  black, 
walked  at  the  head,  fanning  themselves  now  and 

127 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

then  with  little  fans  drawn  from  their  girdles. 
Coolies,  dressed  in  white  like  the  hearse  bearers, 
carried  stiff,  conical  bouquets,  six  feet  long,  made 
of  flowers  of  staring  colors,  and  clumps  of  lotos 
made  of  papier  mache  covered  with  gold  and  silver 
leaf.  The  chief  mourner,  a  woman,  rode  smiling  in 
a  rick'sha.  She  wore  a  silver-gray  kimono  and  a 
tall  canopied  cap  of  white  brocade  with  wide  float- 
ing strings  like  an  old-fashioned  bonnet. 

"Well,  of  all  things!"  said  Patricia,  in  an  awe- 
struck whisper.  "What  do  you  think  of  that  ?"  For 
the  file  of  rick'sha  following  her  carried  a  curious 
assemblage  of  mourners.  In  each  sat  a  dog, 
some  large,  some  small,  with  great  bows  of  black 
or  white  crepe  tied  to  their  collars.  Taka,  the 
driver,  turned  his  head  and  spoke: 

"Dog-doctor  die,"  he  said.    "All  dog  very  sorry." 

"It's  the  'vet.,'  father,"  Patricia  cried.  "He  is 
dead,  then — and  all  his  old  patients  are  attending 
the  funeral !  See,  Barbara !  They  are  lined  up  ac- 
cording to  diplomatic  precedence.  That  French 
poodle  in  front  belongs  to  the  Japanese  senior 
prince.  The  Aberdeen  is  the  British  Ambassador's. 
And  there's  the  Italian  Embassy  bull-terrier  and  the 
Spanish  Charge's  'chin.'  The  foreigners'  dogs  have 
black  bows  and  the  others  white.  Why  is  that,  I 
wonder?" 

"I  presume,"  said  the  Ambassador,  "because 
white  is  the  Japanese  mourning  color." 

128 


A  FACE  IN  THE  CROWD 

"Of  course.  How  stupid  of  me !"  She  sat  sud- 
denly upright.  "Of  all  tilings!  There's  our 
'Dandy'!"  She  pointed  to  a  tiny  Pomeranian  on 
the  seat  of  the  last  rick'sha.  "I  wondered  why 
number-three  boy  was  washing  him  so  hard  this 
morning!  It's  a  mercy  he  didn't  see  us,  or  he'd 
have  broken  up  the  procession.  Please  take  note 
that  he's  the  tail-end — which  shows  my  own  un- 
official insignificance." 

"There's  a  tourist  at  the  hotel,"  said  the  Ambassa- 
dor, "who  should  have  seen  this.  I  was  there  the 
other  day  and  I  overheard  her  speaking  to  one  of  the 
Japanese  clerks.  She  said  she  had  seen  everything 
but  a  funeral,  and  she  wanted  him  to  instruct  her 
guide  to  take  her  to  one.  The  clerk  said :  'I  am  too 
sorry,  Madam,  but  this  is  not  the  season  for 
funerals.'  " 

The  horses  trotted  on,  to  drop  to  a  walk,  pres- 
ently, on  a  brisk  incline.  High,  slanting  retaining 
walls  were  on  either  side,  and  double  rows  of 
cherry-trees,  whose  interlacing  branches  wove  a 
roof  of  soft  pink  bloom.  Along  the  road  were  many 
people;  inkyo — old  men  who  no  longer  labored,  and 
ba-San — old  women  whom  age  had  relieved  from 
household  cares — bent  and  withered  and  walking 
with  staves  or  leaning  on  the  arms  of  their  daugh- 
ters, who  bore  babies  of  their  own  strapped  to  their 
backs;  children  clattering  on  loose  wooden  clogs; 
youths  sauntering  with  kimono'd  arms  thrown,  col- 

129 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

lege-boy  fashion,  about  each  other's  shoulders;  a 
troop  of  young  girls  in  student  hakama — skirts  of 
deep  purple  or  garnet — laughing  and  chatting  in  low 
voices  or  airily  swinging  bundles  tied  in  colored 
furoshiki.  Midway  the  wall  opened  into  a  miniature 
park  filled  with  trees,  with  a  small  lake  and  a  Shinto 
monument. 

"Why,  there's  little  Ishikichi,"  said  Patricia. 
"I  never  saw  him  so  far  from  home  before.  Isn't 
that  a  queer-looking  man  with  him !" 

The  solemn  six-year-old,  Barbara's  window  ac- 
quaintance of  the  morning,  was  trotting  from  the 
inclosure,  his  small  fingers  clutching  the  hand  of  a 
foreigner.  The  latter  was  of  middle  age.  His  coat 
was  a  heavy,  double-breasted  "reefer."  His  bat- 
tered hat,  wide-brimmed  and  soft-crowned,  was  a 
joke.  But  his  linen  was  fresh  and  good  and  his 
clumsy  shoes  did  not  conceal  the  smallness  and 
shapeliness  of  his  feet.  He  was  lithe  and  well  built, 
and  moved  with  an  easy  swing  of  shoulder  and 
a  step  at  once  quick  and  graceful.  His  back  was 
toward  them,  but  Barbara  could  see  his  long,  gray- 
black  hair,  a  square  brow  above  an  aquiline  profile 
at  once  bold  and  delicate,  and  a  drooping  mustache 
shot  with  gray.  Many  people  seemed  to  regard 
him,  but  he  spoke  to  no  one  save  his  small  com- 
panion. His  manner,  as  he  bent  dowrn,  had  some- 
thing caressing  and  confiding. 

At  the  sound  of  wheels  the  man  turned  all  at  once 
130 


A  FACE  IN  THE  CROWD 

toward  them.  As  his  gaze  met  Barbara's,  she 
thought  a  startled  look  shot  across  it.  At  side 
view  his  face  had  seemed  a  dark  olive,  but  now 
in  the  vivid  sunlight  it  showed  blanched.  His  eyes 
were  deep  in  arched  orbits.  One,  she  noted,  was 
curiously  prominent  and  dilated.  From  a  certain 
bird-like  turn  of  the  head,  she  had  an  impression 
that  this  one  eye  was  nearly  if  not  wholly  sight- 
less. All  this  passed  through  her  mind  in  a  flash, 
even  while  she  wondered  at  his  apparent  agitation. 

For  as  he  gazed,  he  had  dropped  the  child's  hand. 
She  saw  his  lips  compress  in  an  expression  grim  and 
forbidding.  He  made  an  involuntary  movement, 
as  though  mastered  by  a  quick  impulse.  Then, 
in  a  breath,  his  face  changed.  He  shrank  back, 
turned  sharply  into  the  park  and  was  lost  among 
the  trees. 

"What  an  odd  man!"  exclaimed  Patricia.  "I 
suppose  he  resented  our  staring  at  him.  He's  left 
the  little  chap  all  alone,  too.  Stop  the  horses  a  mo- 
ment, Tucker,"  she  directed,  and  as  they  pulled  up 
she  called  to  the  child. 

But  there  was  no  reply.  Ishikichi  looked  at  her 
a  moment  frowningly,  then,  without  a  word,  turned 
and  stalked  somberly  after  his  companion. 

"What  an  infant  thunder-cloud!"  said  Patricia  as 
the  carriage  proceeded.  "That  must  be  where  our 
precious  prodigy  gets  his  English.  Poor  mite !"  she 
added.  "He  was  the  inseparable  of  the  son  of  Toru, 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

the  flower-dealer  opposite  the  Embassy,  Barbara, 
and  the  dear  little  fellow  was  run  over  and  killed  last 
week  by  a  foreign  carriage.  No  doubt  he's  grieving 
over  it,  but  in  Japan  even  the  babies  are  trained  not 
to  show  what  they  feel.  I  wonder  who  this  new 
friend  is?" 

"I've  seen  the  man  once  before,"  said  the  Ambas- 
sador. "He  was  pointed  out  to  me.  His  name  is 
Thorn.  His  first  name  is  Greek — Aloysius,  isn't 
it? — yes,  Aloysius.  He  is  a  kind  of  recluse:  one 
of  those  bits  of  human  flotsam,  probably,  that  west- 
ern civilization  discards,  and  that  drift  eventually 
to  the  East.  It  would  be  interesting  to  know  his 
history." 

So  this,  thought  Barbara,  was  the  exile  of  whom 
Daunt  had  told  her,  who  had  chosen  to  bury  him- 
self— from  what  unguessed  motive! — in  an  oriental 
land,  sunk  out  of  sight  like  a  stone  in  a  pool.  When 
he  looked  at  her  she  had  felt  almost  an  impulse  to 
speak,  so  powerfully  had  the  shadow  in  his  eyes 
suggested  the  canker  of  solitariness,  the  dreary  ache 
of  bitterness  prolonged.  She  felt  a  wave  of  pity 
surging  over  her. 

But  the  carriage  leaped  forward,  new  sights 
sprang  on  them  and  the  fleeting  thought  dropped 
away  at  length  behind  her,  with  the  overhanging 
cherry-blooms,  the  little  green  park,  and  the  strange 
face  at  its  gateway. 


132 


CHAPTER  XVI 
"BANZAI  NIPPON!" 

GRADUALLY,  as  they  proceeded,  the  throng 
became  denser.  Policemen  in  neat  suits  of 
white-duck  and  wearing  long  cavalry  swords 
lined  the  road.  They  had  smart  military-looking 
caps  and  white  cotton  gloves,  and  stood,  as  had  the 
officer  before  the  file  of  convicts  in  Shimbashi  Sta- 
tion, moveless  and  imperturbable.  The  crowds  were 
massed  now  in  close,  locked  lines  on  either  side.  In 
one  place  a  school-master  stood  guard  over  a  file  of 
small  boys  in  holiday  kimono  :  a  little  paper  Japanese 
flag  was  clutched  in  each  chubby  hand. 

In  all  the  ranks  there  was  no  jostling,  or  fighting 
for  position,  no  loud-voiced  jest  or  expostulation; 
a  spell  was  in  the  air;  the  Imperial  Presence  who 
was  to  pass  that  way  had  cast  His  beneficent 
Shadow  before. 

Through  a  double  row  of  saluting  police  they 
whirled  into  an  immense  brown  field,  as  level  as  a 
floor,  stretching  before  them  seemingly  empty,  a 
dull,  yellow-brown  waste  horizoned  by  feathery 
tree-tops.  The  carriage  turned  to  the  right,  skirt- 
ing a  surging  sea  of  brown  faces  held  in  check  by 

J33 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

a  stretched  rope;  these  gave  place  to  a  mass  of 
officers  standing  in  dress-uniform,  with  plumed  caps 
and  breasts  ablaze  with  decorations ;  in  another  mo- 
ment they  descended  before  a  canvas  marquee  where 
brilliant  regimental  uniforms  from  a  dozen  coun- 
tries shifted  and  mingled  with  diplomatic  costumes 
heavy  with  gold-braid,  and  with  women's  gay  frocks 
and  picture-hats. 

The  air  was  full  of  exhilaration;  people  were 
laughing  and  chatting.  The  British  Ambassador 
displayed  the  plaid  of  a  Colonel  of  Highlanders; 
he  had  fought  in  the  Soudan.  The  Chinese  Min- 
ister was  in  his  own  mandarin  costume;  from  his 
round,  jade-buttoned  hat  swept  the  much  coveted 
peacock  feathers  and  on  his  breast  were  the  stars  of 
the  "Rising-Sun"  and  the  "Double-Dragon."  The 
American  Ambassador  alone,  of  all  the  foreign  rep- 
resentatives, wore  the  plain  frock-coat  and  silk  hat 
of  the  civilian.  From  group  to  group  strolled  officials 
of  the  Japanese  Foreign  Office  and  Cabinet  Minis- 
ters, their  ceremonial  coats  crossed  by  white  or 
crimson  cordons.  And  through  it  all  Barbara 
moved,  responsive  to  all  this  lightness  and  color, 
bowing  here  and  there  to  introductions  that  left  her 
only  the  more  conscious  of  the  one  tall  figure  that 
had  met  them  and  now  walked  at  her  side. 

Daunt  could  not  have  told  that  the  flowers  in  her 
hat  were  brown  orchids :  he  only  knew  that  they 
matched  the  color  of  her  eyes.  Last  night  the  moon- 

134 


BANZAI  NIPPON 

light  had  lent  her  something  of  the  fragile  and 
ethereal,  like  itself.  Now  the  sunlight  painted  in 
clear  warm  colors  of  cream  and  cardinal.  It  glinted 
from  the  perfect  curve  of  her  forehead,  and  tangled 
in  the  wide  wave  of  her  bronze  hair,  making  it 
gleam  like  hot  copper  spun  into  silk-fine  strands. 
His  finger-tips  tingled  to  touch  it. 

He  started,  as — "A  penny  for  your  thoughts," 
she  said,  with  sudden  mischief. 

"Have  you  so  much  about  you?"  he  countered. 

"That's  a  subterfuge." 

"You  wouldn't  be  flattered  to  hear  them,  I'm 
afraid." 

"The  reflection  is  certainly  a  sad  blow  to  my  self- 
esteem  !" 

"Well,"  he  said  daringly,  "I  was  thinking  how  I 
would  like  to  pick  you  up  in  my  arms  before  all 
these  people  and  run  right  out  in  the  center  of  that 
field—" 

She  flushed  to  the  tips  of  her  ears.    "And  then — " 

"Just  run,  and  run,  and  run  away." 

"What  a  heroic  exploit!"  she  said  with  subtle 
mockery,  but  the  flush  deepened. 

"You  know  to  what  lengths  I  can  go  in  my  long- 
ing to  be  a  hero !"  he  muttered. 

"Running  off  with  girls  under  your  arm  seems 
to  have  become  a  mania.  But  isn't  your  idea  rather 
prosaic  in  this  age  of  flying-machines?  To  swoop 
down  on  one  in  an  aeroplane  would  be  so  much 

135 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

more  thrilling?  This  is  the  field  where  you  prac- 
tise, too,  isn't  it?  Is  that  building  away  over  there 
where  you  keep  your  Glider?*' 

"Yes.  At  first  I  made  the  models  in  a  Japanese 
house  of  mine  near  here.  I  keep  it  still,  from  sen- 
timent." 

"How  fine  to  meet  a  man  who  admits  to  having 
sentiment !  I'm  tremendously  interested  in  Japanese 
houses.  You  must  show  it  to  me." 

"I  will.  And  when  will  you  let  me  take  you  for 
a 'fly?'" 

"I'm  relieved,"  she  said,  "to  find  you  willing  to 
ask  permission." 

Her  eyes  sparkled  into  his,  and  both  laughed. 
Patricia  was  chatting  animatedly  with  Count  Voy- 
nich,  the  young  diplomatist  whom  she  had  pointed 
out  in  the  train,  and  whose  monocle  now  looked 
absurdly  contemplative  and  serene  under  a  menacing 
helmet.  The  confusion  of  many  colors,  the  pomp 
and  panoply  under  the  day's  golden  azure,  was  sing- 
ing in  Barbara's  veins.  She  moved  suddenly  toward 
the  front.  "Come,"  she  said,  "I  want  you  to  tell  me 
things!" 

"I'm  going  to,"  he  answered  grimly.  "I've 
known  I  should,  ever  since — " 

"Look!"  she  cried.  Several  coaches  had  bowled 
up;  behind  each  stood  footmen  in  gold-lace  and 
cocked  hats,  knee  breeches  and  white  silk  stockings. 
Daunt  named  the  occupants  as  they  descended :  the 

136 


BANZAI  NIPPON 

Premier,  one  of  the  "Elder  Statesmen,"  the  Min- 
ister of  the  Household. 

"Who  are  the  people  there  at  the  side,  under  the 
awning  ?" 

"Tourists.  Each  Embassy  and  Legation  is  al- 
lowed a  certain  number  of  invitations." 

"Why,  yes,"  said  Barbara.  "I  see  some  of  my 
ship-mates."  She  smiled  and  nodded  across  as 
faces  turned  toward  her.  There  was  the  gaunt, 
sallow  woman  who  had  distributed  Christian  Sci- 
ence tracts  (till  sea-sickness  claimed  her  for  its 
own)  and  little  Miss  Tippetts  (the  printed  steamer- 
list,  with  unconscious  wit,  had  made  it  "Tidbits"), 
who  had  flitted  about  the  companion-ways  like  a 
shawled  wraith,  radiant  now  in  a  white  lingerie 
gown  and  a  hat  covered  with  red  hollyhocks.  And 
there,  too,  was  the  familiar  painted-muslin  and  the 
expansive  white  waistcoat  of  the  train. 

A  hundred  yards  to  the  right  was  spread  a  wide 
silk  canopy  of  royal  purple,  caught  back  with  crim- 
son tassels.  "What  is  that?"  Barbara  asked,  point- 
ing. 

"That  is  for  the  Emperor  and  his  suite.  The  big 
sixteen-petaled  chrysanthemum  on  its  front  is  the 
Imperial  Crest;  no  one  else  is  allowed  to  use  or 
carry  it.  The  men  on  horseback  are  Princes  of  the 
Blood.  Almost  all  the  great  generals  of  the  late 
war  are  in  that  group  behind  them.  The  man  smok- 
ing a  cigarette  is  the  Japanese  Minister  of  War." 

137 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"But  when  do  the  troops  come?"  Barbara  in- 
quired. "I  see  only  one  little  company  out  there 
in  the  center." 

"That  is  a  band,"  he  said.  "Look  farther.  Can 
you  make  put  something  like  a  wide,  brown  ribbon 
stretched  all  around  the  field  ?" 

She  looked.  The  far-away,  moveless,  dun-colored 
strip  merged  with  the  sere  plain,  but  now,  here  and 
there,  she  saw  minute  needle  points  of  sunlight 
twinkle  across  it.  She  made  an  exclamation.  For 
the  tiny  flashes  were  sun-gleams  from  the  bayonets 
of  massed  men,  clad  in  neutral-tinted  khaki, 
silent,  motionless  as  a  brown  wall,  a  living  river 
frozen  to  utter  immobility  by  a  word  of  command 
that  had  been  spoken  two  long  hours  before. 

A  mounted  aide  galloped  wildly  past  toward  the 
purple  canopy.  As  he  flashed  by,  a  thin  bugle-note 
rang  put  and  a  band  far  back  by  the  gate  at  which 
they  had  entered  began  playing  a  minor  melody. 
Strange,  slow,  infinitely  solemn  and  sad,  the  strain 
rolled  around  the  hushed  field — the  Kinri-ga-yo,  the 
"Hymn  of  the  Sovereign,"  adapted  by  a  German 
melodist  a  score  of  years  ago,  which  in  Japan  is 
played  only  in  the  Imperial  Presence  or  that  of  its 
outward  and  visible  tokens.  The  counterpoint,  with 
its  muttering  roll  of  snare-drums  on  the  long  chords, 
and  sudden,  sharp  clashes  of  cymbals,  gave  the  ma- 
jestic air  an  effect  weird  and  unforgetable.  The 
strain  sank  to  silence,  but  with  the  last  note  a  second 

138 


BANZAI  NIPPON 

nearer  band  caught  it  up  and  repeated  it;  then, 
nearer  still,  another  and  another. 

Barbara,  leaning,  saw  a  great  state-coach  of  green 
and  gold  coming  down  the  field.  It  was  drawn  by 
four  of  the  most  beautiful  bay  horses  she  had  ever 
seen.  Coachman,  postilions  and  footmen  wore  red 
coats  heavily  frogged  with  gold,  white  cloth 
breeches  and  block  enamel  top-boots.  As  it  came 
briskly  along  that  animate  wall  of  spectators,  the 
vast  concourse,  save  for  the  welling  or  ebbing  minor 
of  the  bands,  was  silent,  hushed  as  in  a  cathedral. 
But  as  it  passed,  the  packed  sea  of  brown  faces — 
the  mass  of  kimono  next  the  gate  and  the  ranks  of 
splendid  uniforms — bent  forward  as  one  man,  in  a 
great  sighing  rustle,  like  a  field  of  tall  grass  when 
a  sudden  wind  passes  over  it. 

The  plumed  hats  of  the  diplomatists  came  off; 
they  bowed  low.  The  ladies  courtesied,  and  Bar- 
bara, as  her  gaze  lifted,  caught  an  instant's  glimpse, 
through  the  coach's  glass  sides,  of  that  kingly  figure, 
heaven-descended  and  sacred,  mysterious  alike  to 
his  own  subjects  as  to  the  outside  world,  through 
whom  flows  to  the  soul  of  modern  Japan  the  mani- 
fest divinity  and  living  guidance  of  cohorts  of  dead 
Emperors  stretching  backward  into  the  night  of 
Time ! 

The  band  stationed  in  the  center  of  the  immense 
field  had  begun  to  play — something  with  a  martial 

139 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

swing;  and  now  the  far  brown  strip  that  had  blent 
with  brown  earth  began  to  shift  and  tremble  like 
the  quiver  of  air  above  heated  metal.  Its  motes  de- 
tached themselves,  clustered  anew;  and  the  long, 
wide  ribbon,  like  a  huge  serpent  waked  from  rigid 
sleep  in  the  sunshine,  swept  into  view :  regiments 
of  men,  armed  and  blanketed,  by  file  and  platoon. 
They  moved  with  high,  jerky  "goose-step"  and 
loosely  swinging  arm,  line  upon  line,  till  the  ground 
shook  with  the  tread. 

Before  each  regiment  were  borne  strange  flags, 
blackened  and  tattered  by  blood  and  shell.  Some 
were  mere  flapping  fringes.  But  they  were  more 
precious  than  human  lives.  One  had  been  found  on 
a  Manchurian  battlefield,  wrapped  about  the  body 
of  a  dead  Japanese,  beneath  his  clothing.  Wounded, 
he  had  so  concealed  it,  then  killed  himself,  lest,  cap- 
tured alive,  the  standard  he  bore  might  fall  into  the 
hands  of  the  enemy.  As  each  new  rank  came  op- 
posite the  coach  before  the  purple  canopy,  an  of- 
ficer's sword  flashed  out  in  salute,  and  a  "banzai!" 
tore  across  the  martial  music  like  the  ragged  yell 
of  a  fanatical  Dervish. 

Daunt,  watching  Barbara,  saw  the  light  leaping 
in  her  brown  eyes,  the  excitement  coming  and  go- 
ing in  her  face.  Again  and  again  he  fixed  his  gaze 
before  him,  as  infantry,  cavalry  and  artillery 
marched  and  pounded  and  rumbled  past.  In  vain. 
Like  a  wilful  drunkard  it  returned  to  intoxicate  it- 

140 


BANZAI  NIPPON 

self  with  the  sight  of  her  eager  beauty,  that  made 
the  scene  for  him  only  a  splendid  blur,  an  extraneous 
impression  of  masses  of  swaying  bodies  moving  like 
marionettes,  of  glistening  bayonets,  horses,  clatter- 
ing ammunition  wagons,  and  fluttering  pennants. 

In  Barbara,  however,  every  nerve  was  thrilling 
to  the  sight.  For  the  moment  she  had  forgotten 
even  the  man  beside  her.  As  she  watched  the 
audacious  outpouring  of  drilled  power,  tempered 
and  restrained,  yet  so  terribly  alive  in  its  coiled 
virility,  she  was  feeling  a  keen  pang  of  sympathy 
that  was  almost  pain.  In  this  burning  panorama 
she  divined  no  shrinking,  devious  thing  sinking  with 
the  fatigue  of  ages,  aping  the  superficialities  of  a 
remote  race :  not  merely  a  tidal  wave  of  intense 
vitality,  mobile  and  mercurial,  hastening  onward 
toward  an  inaudible  unknown,  but  a  splendid  rebirth, 
a  dazzling  reincarnation  of  old  spirit  in  new  form, 
a  symbol  concrete  and  vital,  like  the  blaze  of  a  bea- 
con flaming  a  racial  reveille. 

She  turned  toward  Daunt,  her  hand  outstretched, 
her  fingers  on  his  arm,  her  lips  opened. 

But  she  did  not  speak.  Afterward  she  did  not 
know  what  she  had  intended  to  say. 


141' 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A'  SILENT   UNDERSTANDING 

PHIL  descended  from  his  rick'sha  at  the  Tokyo 
Club  and  paid  the  coolie. 

The  building  faced  an  open  square  between 
the  Imperial  Hotel  and  the  Parliament  Buildings, 
along  one  of  the  smaller  picturesque  moats,  which 
the  fever  for  modernization  was  now  filling  in  to 
make  a  conventional  boulevard.  A  motor  shed  stood 
at  the  side  of  the  plaza  and  an  automobile  or  two  was 
generally  in  evidence.  The  structure  was  small  but 
comfortable  enough,  with  reading-  and  card-rooms 
and  a  billiard-room  of  many  tables.  It  was  the 
clearing-house  for  the  capital's  news,  the  general 
exchange  for  Diet,  Peers'  Club  and  the  Embassies. 
It  was  a  place  of  tacit  free-masonry  and  conversa- 
tional dissections.  From  five  to  seven  in  the  after- 
noon it  was  a  polyglot  babble  of  Japanese,  English, 
French,  German  and  Italian,  punctuated  with  the 
tinkle  of  glasses  and  the  cheerful  click  of  billiard 
balls.  Over  its  tables  secretaries  met  to  gossip  of 
the  newest  entente  or  the  latest  social  "affair,"  and 
protocols  had  been  drafted  on  the  big,  deep,  leather 
sofas  adjoining  the  bar. 

142 


The  door  was  opened  by  a  servile  bell-boy  in  but- 
tons. Phil  tossed  his  hat  on  to  the  hall-rack  and  en- 
tered. It  was  cool  and  pleasant  inside,  and  a  great 
bowl  of  China  asters  sat  on  the  table  beside  the 
membership  book.  On  the  wall  was  a  wire  frame 
full  of  visitors'  cards.  He  strode  through  the  office 
and  entered  a  large,  glass-inclosed  piazza  where  a 
number  of  Japanese,  some  in  foreign,  some  in  na- 
tive costume,  were  watching  a  game  of  Go.  Two 
younger  Legation  attaches  were  shaking  dice  at  an- 
other table.  It  was  but  a  little  past  noon  and  the 
place  had  an  air  of  sober  quiet,  very  different,  Phil 
reflected,  from  the  club  on  the  Yokohama  Bund, 
which  was  always  buzzing,  and  where  he  was  hail- 
fellow-well-met  with  everybody.  Frowning,  he 
passed  into  the  next  room. 

Here  his  eye  lightened.  Sitting  in  a  corner  of 
one  of  the  huge  sofas  which  sank  under  his  enor- 
mous weight,  was  Doctor  Bersonin.  A  little  round 
table  was  before  him  on  which  sat  a  tall  glass  frosted 
with  cracked  ice. 

"Sit  down,"  said  the  expert.  "How  do  you  come 
to  be  in  Tokyo?  The  Review,  I  presume."  He 
struck  a  call-bell  on  the  table  and  gave  an  order  to 
the  waiter. 

Phil  lighted  a  cigarette.  "No,"  he  said,  "I've 
come  to  stay  for  a  while." 

"You  haven't  given  up  your  bungalow  on  the 
Bluff?"  asked  Bersonin  quickly.  There  was  an  odd 

143 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

eagerness  in  his  colorless  face — a  look  of  almost 
dread,  which  Phil,  lighting  his  cigarette,  did  not  see. 
It  changed  to  relief  as  the  other  answered : 

"No.  Probably  I  shan't  be  here  more  than  a  few 
days." 

The  expert  settled  back  in  his  seat.  "You'll  not 
find  the  hotel  everything  it  should  be,  I'm  afraid," 
he  observed  more  casually. 

"I'm  not  there/'  Phil  answered.  "I — I've  got  a 
little  Japanese  house." 

"So!  A  menage  de  garqon,  eh?"  The  big  man 
held  up  his  clinking  glass  to  the  light,  and  under 
cover  of  it,  his  deep-set  yellowish  eyes  darted  a  keen, 
detective  look  at  Phil's  averted  face.  "Well,"  he 
went  on,  "how  are  your  affairs?  Has  the  stern 
brother  appeared  yet?" 

Phil  shifted  uneasily.  "No,"  he  replied.  "I  ex- 
pect him  pretty  soon,  though."  He  drained  the  glass 
the  boy  had  filled.  "You've  been  tremendously  kind, 
Doctor,"  he  went  on  hurriedly,  "to  lend  me  so  much, 
without  the  least  bit  of  security — " 

"Pshaw!"  said  Bersonin.  "Why  shouldn't  I ?"  He 
put  his  hand  on  the  other's  shoulder  with  a  friendly 
gesture.  "I  only  wish  money  could  give  me  as  much 
pleasure  as  it  does  you,  my  boy." 

Two  men  had  seated  themselves  in  the  next  room. 
Through  the  open  door  came  fragments  of  conver- 
sation, the  gurgle  of  poured  liquid  and  the  bubbling 
hiss  of  Hirano  mineral  water.  Bersonin  lowered  his 

144 


A  SILENT  UNDERSTANDING 

voice:  "Youth!  What  a  great  thing  it  is!  Red- 
blood  and  imagination  and  zest  to  enjoy.  All  it 
needs  is  the  wherewithal  to  gild  its  pleasures.  After 
a  time  age  catches  us,  and  what  are  luxuries  then? 
Only  things  to  make  tiresomeness  a  little  less  irk- 
some!" 

Phil  moved  his  glass  on  the  table  top  in  sullen  cir- 
cles. "But  suppose  one  hasn't  the  'wherewithal'  you 
talk  of?  What's  the  fun  without  money,  even  when 
you're  young  ?  I've  never  been  able  to  discover  it !" 

"Find  the  money,"  said  Bersonin. 

"I  wish  some  one  would  tell  me  how !" 

Bersonin's  head  turned  toward  the  door.  He  sat 
suddenly  rigid.  It  came  to  Phil  that  he  was  listen- 
ing intently  to  the  talk  between  the  two  men  in  the 
next  room. 

"I  needn't  point  out" — it  was  a  measured  voice, 
cold  and  incisive  and  deliberate  —  "that  when  the 
American  fleet  came,  two  years  ago,  conditions  were 
quite  different.  The  cruise  was  a  national  tour  de 
force;  the  visit  to  Japan  was  incidental.  Besides, 
there  was  really  no  feeling  then  between  the  two  na- 
tions— that  was  all  a  creation  of  the  yellow  press. 
But  the  coming  of  this  European  Squadron  to-day 
is  a  different  thing.  It  is  a  season  of  general  sensi- 
tiveness and  distrust,  and  when  the  ships  belong  to  a 
nation  between  which  and  Japan  there  is  real  and 
serious  diplomatic  tension — well,  in  my  opinion  the 
time  is,  at  best,  inopportune." 

145 


"Perhaps" — a  younger  voice  was  speaking  now, 
less  certain,  less  poised  and  a  little  hesitant — "per- 
haps the  very  danger  makes  for  caution.  People  are 
particularly  careful  with  matches  when  there's  a  lot 
of  powder  about.' * 

"True,  so  far  as  intention  goes.  But  there  is  the 
possibility  of  some  contre-temps.  You  remember  the 
case  of  the  Ajax  in  the  Eighties.  It  was  blown  up  in 
a  friendly  harbor — clearly  enough  by  accident,  at 
least  so  far  as  the  other  nation  was  concerned.  But  it 
was  during  a  time  of  strain  and  hot  blood,  and  you 
know  how  narrowly  a  great  clash  was  averted.  If 
war  had  followed,  regiments  would  have  marched 
across  the  frontier,  shouting :  'Remember  the  Ajax!' 
As  it  was,  there  was  a  panic  in  three  bourses.  Solid 
securities  fell  to  the  lowest  point  in  their  history. 
The  yellow  press  pounded  down  the  market,  and  a 
few  speculators  on  the  short  side  made  gigantic  for- 
tunes.'* 

A  moment's  pause  ensued.  Bersonin's  fingers 
were  rigid.  There  seemed  suddenly  to  Phil  to  be 
some  significance  between  his  silence  and  the  con- 
versation— as  if  he  wished  it  to  sink  into  his,  Phil's, 
mind.  The  voice  continued : 

"What  has  happened  once  may  happen  again. 
What  if  one  of  those  Dreadnaughts  by  whatever  ac- 
cident should  go  down  in  this  friendly  harbor?  It 
doesn't  take  a  vivid  imagination  to  picture  the  head- 
lines next  morning  in  the  newspapers  at  home !" 

146 


A  SILENT  UNDERSTANDING 

The  ice  in  the  tumblers  clinked ;  there  was  a  sound 
of  pushed-back  chairs. 

As  their  departing  footsteps  died  in  the  hall,  Ber- 
sonin's  gaze  lifted  slowly  to  Phil's  face.  It  had  in  it 
now  the  look  it  had  held  when  he  gazed  from  the 
roof  of  the  bungalow  on  the  Bluff  across  the  anchor- 
age beneath.  Phil  did  not  start  or  shrink.  Instead, 
the  slinking  evil  that  ruled  him  met  half-way  the 
bolder  evil  in  that  glance,  from  whose  sinister  sug- 
gestion the  veil  was  for  a  moment  lifted,  recognizing 
a  tacit  kinship.  Neither  spoke,  but  as  the  hard  young 
eyes  looked  into  the  cavernous,  topaz  eyes  of  Doctor 
Bersonin,  Phil  knew  that  the  thought  that  lay  coiled 
there  was  a  thing  unholy  and  unafraid.  His  heart 
beat  faster,  but  it  warmed.  He  felt  no  longer  awed 
by  the  other's  greater  age,  standing  and  accomplish- 
ments. He  was  conscious  of  a  new,  half-insolent 
sense  of  easy  comradeship. 

"Suppose,"  said  Bersonin  slowly,  "I  should  show 
you  how  to  find  the  money." 

A  sharp  eagerness  darted  across  Phil's  face. 
Money !  How  much  he  needed  it,  longed  for  it !  It 
could  put  him  on  his  feet,  clear  off  his  debts,  square 
his  bridge-balance,  and — his  brother  notwithstand- 
ing!— enable  him  to  begin  another  chapter  of  the 
careless  life  he  loved!  He  looked  steadily  into  the 
expert's  face. 

"Tell  me !"  he  almost  whispered. 
147 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

Bersonin  rose  and  held  out  his  hand.  He  did  not 
smile. 

"Come  with  me  to-night,"  he  said.  "I  dine  late, 
but  we'll  take  a  spin  in  my  car  and  have  some  tea 
somewhere  beforehand.  Tell  me  where  your  house 
is  and  I'll  send  Ishida  with  the  motor-car  for  you." 

Phil  gave  him  the  address  and  he  went  out  with 
no  further  word.  A  great,  brass-fitted  automobile, 
with  a  young,  keen-eyed  Japanese  sitting  beside  the 
chauffeur,  throbbed  up  from  the  shed.  Bersonin 
climbed  ponderously  in.  A  gray-haired  diplomatist, 
entering  the  Club  with  a  stranger,  pointed  the  big 
man  out  to  the  other  as  he  was  whirled  away. 


148 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

IN  THE  BAMBOO  LANE 

WHAT  did  Bersonin  mean?  Phil  replen- 
ished his  glass,  feeling  a  tense,  nervous  ex- 
citement. 

Why  had  he  listened  so  intently — made  him  listen 
— to  what  the  men  in  the  next  room  were  saying? 
He  could  recall  it  all — for  some  reason  every  word 
was  engraven  on  his  mind.  The  visit  of  the  foreign 
Squadron.  Speculators  who  had  once  made  quick 
fortunes  through  an  accident  to  a  battle-ship.  He 
thought  of  the  look  he  had  seen  on  Bersonin's  face. 

"What  do  you  want  me  to  do  ?"  He  muttered  the 
words  to  himself.  As  he  rose  to  go  he  glanced  half- 
fearfully  over  his  shoulder. 

He  walked  along  the  street,  his  brain  afire.  He 
was  passing  a  moat  in  whose  muck  bottom  piling 
was  being  driven;  the  heavy  plunger  was  lifted  by 
a  dozen  ropes  pulled  by  a  ring  of  coolie  women, 
dressed  like  men,  with  blue-cotton  leggins  and  red 
cloths  about  their  heads.  As  they  dragged  at  the 
straw  ropes,  and  the  great  weight  rose  and  fell,  they 

149 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

chanted  a  wailing  refrain,   with  something  minor 
and  plaintive  in  its  burden— 

"Y6 — ceya — ko — ra ! 
Yd — eeya — ko — ra!" 

What  do  you  "want  me  to  do?  .  .  .  The  words 
wove  oddly  with  the  refrain.  Why  should  he  say 
them  over  and  over?  Again  and  again  it  came — 
an  echo  of  an  echo — and  again  and  again  he  seemed 
to  see  the  look  in  the  expert's  hollow,  cat-like  eyes ! 
It  haunted  him  as  he  walked  on  toward  Aoyama 
parade-ground,  to  the  little  house  in  Kasumiga- 
tani  Cho,  the  "Street-of-the-Misty- Valley." 

Then,  as  he  walked,  he  saw  some  one  that  for  the 
moment  drove  it  from  his  mind.  He  had  turned  for 
a  short-cut  through  a  temple  inclosure,  and  there  he 
met  her  face  to  face — the  girl  of  the  matsuri,  whom 
he  had  seen  wading  in  the  foam  at  Kamakura.  Her 
slim  neck,  pale  with  rice-powder,  rose  from  a  soft 
white  neckerchief  flowered  with  gold,  and  a  scarlet 
poppy  was  dreaming  in  her  black  hair.  Phil's  face 
sprang  red,  and  a  wave  of  warm  color  overran  her 
own. 

"O-Haru-San!"  he  cried. 

"Konichi-wa,"  she  answered  with  grave  courtesy 
and  made  to  pass  him,  but  he  turned  and  walked  by 
her  side.  "Please,  please!"  he  entreated.  "If  you 
only  knew  how  often  I  have  looked  for  you !  Don't 
be  unkind!" 

150 


IN  THE  BAMBOO  LANE 

"Why  you  talk  with  me?"  said  Haru,  turning. 
"My  Japanese  girl — no  all  same  your  country." 

"You  wild,  pretty  thing!"  he  said.  "Why  are 
you  so  afraid  of  me?  Foreigners  don't  eat  butter- 
flies." 

"No,"  she  answered,  without  hesitation,  "they 
jus'  break  wings." 

He  laughed  unevenly.  Her  quickness  of  retort 
delighted  him,  and  her  beauty  was  stinging  his  blood. 
He  put  out  his  hand  and  touched  her  sleeve,  but  she 
drew  away  hurriedly : 

"See !"  she  said.  "My  know  those  people  to  come 
in  gate.  Talk — 'bout  my  papa-San — please,  so  they 
will  to  think  he  have  know  you,  nef" 

Phil  obeyed  the  hint,  but  Haru's  cheeks,  as  she 
saluted  her  friends,  were  flushing  painfully.  It  was 
her  first  subterfuge  employed  in  a  moment  of  em- 
barrassment with  the  realization  that  her  home  was 
near  and  that  she  was  violating  the  code  of  deport- 
ment that  from  babyhood  hedges  about  the  young 
Japanese  girl  with  a  complicated  etiquette. 

The  women  they  had  passed  looked  back  curiously 
at  the  foreigner  walking  with  her.  One,  a  girl  of 
Haru's  own  age,  called  smilingly  after  her : 

"Kombcm  Mukojima  de  shot"  Phil  understood 
the  query.  Was  she  going  to  Mukojima — to  the 
cherry  festival — to-night!  His  eyes  sparkled  at  the 
tossed-back,  "Hail"  Well,  he  would  be  there,  too! 
He  had  appreciated  the  quick  wit  of  her  subterfuge. 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

The  clever  little  baggage !  She  was  not  such  a  small, 
brown  saint,  after  all ! 

"I  think  I  did  that  rather  well,"  he  said,  when  they 
had  passed  out  of  earshot.  "They'll  think  your  hon- 
orable parent  and  I  exchange  New  Year  gifts  at  the 
very  least." 

A  little  smile  of  irrepressible  fun  was  lurking 
under  Haru's  flush.  "You  have  ask  how  is  papa- 
San  rhu-ma-tis-um/'  she  said.  "In  our  street  he 
have  some  large  fame,  for  because  he  so  old  and  no 
have  got." 

Phil  laughed  aloud.  "Look  here,  little  Haru," 
he  said,  "you  and  I  are  going  to  be  great  friends, 
aren't  we?"  He  looked  down  at  the  slim,  nervous 
arm,  so  soft  and  firm  of  flesh,  so  deliciously  turned 
and  modeled.  He  knew  a  jade  bracelet  in  Yoko- 
hama that  would  mightily  become  it — he  would 
write  to-night  and  have  it  sent  up!  "When  can  I 
see  you  again,  eh?" 

They  had  turned  into  a  narrow  deserted  lane, 
bordered  with  bamboo  fences,  and  opening,  a  little 
way  beyond,  into  the  wider  Street-of-Prayer-to-the- 
Gods.  She  stopped  as  he  spoke  and  shook  her  head. 
"My  no  can  tell,"  she  answered.  "No  come  more 
far.  My  house  very  near  now." 

He  caught  her  hand — it  was  almost  as  small  as  a 
child's,  with  its  delicate  wrist  and  slender  fingers. 
"Give  me  a  kiss  and  I  will  let  you  go,"  he  said. 

As  she  shrank  back  indignantly  against  the 
152 


IN  THE  BAMBOO  LANE 

palings,  her  free  hand  flung  up  across  her  face,  he 
threw  his  arms  about  her  and  strained  her  to  him.- 
She  wrestled  against  him  with  little  inarticulate 
sobs,  but  he  lifted  her  face  and  kissed  her  again  and 
again. 

He  released  her,  breathing  hard,  the  veins  in  his 
temples  throbbing,  his  lips  burning  hot.  He  stood 
a  moment  looking  after  her,  as  white-faced  and 
breathless,  she  fled  down  the  bamboo  lane. 

"There!"  he  muttered.  "That's  for  you  to  re- 
member me  by — till  next  time !" 


153 


CHAPTER   XIX 

THE   BISHOP   ASKS  A   QUESTION 

BISHOP  RANDOLPH  lived  in  the  quarter  of 
Tokyo  called  TsTciji — a  section  of  "made- 
ground"  in  the  bay,  composed,  as  the  ancient 
vestry  jest  had  it,  of  the  proverbial  tomato-cans.    It 
was  flat  and  low,  and  its  inner  canal  in  the  old  days 
had  formed  the  boundary  of  the  extraterritorial 
district  given  over  by  a  reluctant  government  to  the 
residence  of  foreigners. 

It  was  a  mile  from  the  great,  double-moated  park 
of  the  Imperial  Palace,  from  the  Diet  and  the  For- 
eign Office,  whither,  scarcely  a  generation  ago,  rep- 
resentatives of  European  powers  had  galloped  on 
horse-back,  with  a  mounted  guard  against  swash- 
buckling "two-sword  men."  The  streets,  however, 
on  which  once  an  American  Secretary  of  Legation, 
so  spurring,  had  been  cut  in  two  by  a  single  stroke  of 
a  thirsting  samurai  sword,  were  peaceful  enough  in 
this  era  of  Meiji.  The  cathedral,  the  college,  the  low 
brown  hospital  and  the  lines  of  red-brick  mission 
houses  stood  on  grassy  lawns  behind  green  hedges 
which  gave  a  suggestion  of  a  quiet  English  village. 

154 


THE  BISHOP  ASKS  A  QUESTION 

A  couple  of  the  smaller  Legations  still  clung  to  their 
ancient  sites  and  the  quarter  boasted,  besides,  a 
score  of  ambitious  European  residences  and  a  mod- 
ern hotel. 

In  the  rectory  the  bishop  sat  at  tiffin  with  the 
archbishop  of  the  Russian  Cathedral,  a  man  of  sev- 
enty-eight, gray-bearded  and  patriarchal — another 
St.  Francis  Xavier.  In  this  foreign  field  the  pair 
had  been  friends  during  more  than  a  score  of  years. 
Both  were  equally  broad-minded,  had  long  ago 
thrown  down  the  sectarian  barriers  too  apt  to  pre- 
vail in  less  restricted  communities.  To  a  large 
extent  they  were  confidants.  The  archbishop  spoke 
little  English,  and  the  bishop  no  Russian  and  but 
"inebriate"  French  (as  he  termed  it),  so  that  their 
talk  was  habitually  in  Japanese.  When  they  had 
finished  eating  both  men  bowed  their  heads  in  a 
silent  grace.  The  Russian,  as  he  rose,  made  the 
sign  of  the  cross. 

As  they  entered  the  library  a  wrinkled  house- 
servant  sucked  in  his  breath  behind  them. 

"Will  the  thrice-eminent  guest  deign  to  partake 
of  a  little  worthless  tobacco?"  he  inquired,  in  the 
ceremonious  honorifics  of  the  vernacular. 

The  thrice-eminent  shook  his  head,  and  the  bishop 
answered:  "Honorable  thanks,  Honda-Saw,  our 
guest  augustly  does  not  smoke." 

At  the  table  they  had  been  talking  of  the  great 
dream  of  both — the  Christianization  of  modern 

155 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

Japan.  The  archbishop  continued  the  conversation 
now: 

"As  I  was  saying,  the  great  stumbling-block  is 
the  language.  It  is  all  right  for  you  and  me,  who 
have  had  twenty  years  at  it,  but  our  helpers  haven't. 
His  code  of  courtesy  forbids  a  Japanese  to  seem  to 
correct  even  when  we  are  absurdly  wrong.  One  of 
my  boys" — so  the  bishop  affectionately  referred  to 
his  younger  coadjutors — "was  preaching  the  other 
day  on  'The  Spiritual  Attributes  of  Mankind.'  He 
meant  to  use  the  word  ningen,  man  in  the  wide 
sense.  He  preached,  he  thought,  with  a  good  deal  of 
success — the  people  seemed  particularly  grave  and 
attentive.  Afterward  he  asked  an  old  Japanese  what 
he  thought  of  the  subject.  The  man  replied  that  he 
had  felt  much  instructed  to  find  there  were  so  many 
things  to  be  said  about  it.  He  added  that  he  him- 
self generally  ate  them  boiled.  My  young  man  had 
used  the  word  ninjin — carrots.  'The  Spiritual  At- 
tributes of  Carrots !'  And  a  whole  sermon  on  it.  Im- 
agine it !" 

The  archbishop  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed. 
Then  the  conversation  drifted  again  into  the  serious. 
"Of  course,"  said  the  bishop,  "there  is  at  bottom 
the  oriental  inability  to  separate  racial  traits,  to  re- 
alize that  Christianity  has  made  Christendom's  glo- 
ries, not  her  shames.  The  Japanese  are  essentially 
a  spiritually-minded  people.  Some  of  the  West's 
most  common  vices  they  are  strangely  without.  And 

156 


THE  BISHOP  ASKS  A  QUESTION 

their  code  of  every-day  morals — well,  we  can  throw 
very  few  stones  at  them  there !" 

The  archbishop  nodded. 

"Few,  indeed,"  he  said.  "No  Japanese  Don  Juan 
ever  could  exist.  A  Japanese  woman  would  be  scan- 
dalized by  a  Greek  statue.  She  would  recoil  at  a 
French  nude.  She  would  fly  with  astonishment  and 
shame  from  the  sight  of  a  western  ballet.  Our 
whole  system  strikes  the  Oriental  as  not  only  mon- 
strous but  disgustingly  immoral.  It  seems  to  him, 
for  instance,  sheer  barbarity  for  a  man  to  love  his 
wife  even  half  as  well  as  he  does  his  own  mother 
and  father.  A  curious  case  in  point  happened  not 
so  long  ago.  A  peasant  had  a  mother  who  became 
blind.  He  consulted  the  village  necromancer,  who 
told  him  if  his  mother  could  eat  a  piece  of  human 
heart  she  would  get  her  sight  back.  The  peasant 
went  home  in  tears  and  told  his  wife.  She  said,  'We 
have  only  one  boy.  You  can  very  easily  get  another 
wife  as  good  or  better  than  me,  but  you  might  never 
have  another  son.  Therefore,  you  must  kill  me  and 
take  my  heart  for  your  mother.'  They  embraced, 
and  he  killed  her  with  his  sword.  The  child  awoke 
and  screamed.  Neighbors  and  the  police  came.  In 
the  police  court  the  peasant's  tale  moved  the  judges 
to  tears.  They  quite  understood.  They  didn't  con- 
demn the  man  to  death.  Really  the  one  who  ought 
to  have  been  killed  was  the  necromancer." 

"And  this,"  said  the  bishop  musingly,   "only  a 
157 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

few  miles  from  where  they  were  teaching  integral 
calculus  and  Herbert  Spencer!" 

His  visitor  sat  a  while  in  thought.  "By  the  way," 
he  said  presently,  changing  the  subject,  "I  passed 
your  new  Chapel  the  other  day.  It  is  very  handsome. 
Your  niece,  I  think  you  told  me,  built  it.  May  I 
ask—" 

"Yes,"  said  the  host,  "it  is  my  dead  sister's  child, 
Barbara — John  Fairfax's  daughter." 

A  look  passed  between  them,  and  the  bishop  rose 
and  paced  up  and  down,  a  habit  when  he  was  deeply 
moved.  "She  came  back  to  Japan  with  me,"  he  con- 
tinued. "I  am  to  take  her  to  see  the  Chapel  this 
afternoon.  Yesterday  she  told  me  that  she  intends 
it  to  be  dedicated  to-  her  father's  memory." 

For  a  moment  there  was  no  reply.  Then  the  other 
said:  "You  have  heard  nothing  of  Fairfax  all  these 
years  ?" 

"Not  a  word." 

"She  has  never  known?" 

The  bishop  shook  his  head.  "She  believes  he  died 
before  her  mother  left  Japan."  He  paused  before 
the  window,  his  back  to  the  other.  "He  was  my 
friend !"  he  said ;  "and  I  loved  him.  I  gave  my  sis- 
ter to  him,  and  she  loved  him,  too !" 

"I  remember,"  said  the  archbishop  slowly.  "She 
went  back  to  America  from  Nagasaki.  How 
strange  it  was!  She  never  told  any  one  why  she 
left  him?" 

158 


THE  BISHOP  ASKS  A  QUESTION 

"Never  a  word.  She  died  before  I  went  to 
America  again.  She  left  me  a  letter  which  hinted 
at  something  wholly  unforgivable — almost  Satanic, 
it  must  have  seemed  to  her." 

"And  he?" 

"Disappeared.  He  was  thought  to  have  gone  to 
China.  Perhaps  he  is  alive  there  yet.  I  have  always 
wondered.  If  so,  how  is  he  living — in  what  way?" 
The  bishop  turned  abruptly.  "In  view  of  what  we 
know,  can  I  lend  myself  to  the  dedication  of  this 
house  of  our  Lord  to  a  memory  that  may  be  infa- 
mous? I  ask  you  as  a  friend." 

The  older  man  was  a  long  time  silent. 

"  'His  ways  are  past  finding  out,'  "  he  said  at 
length.  "I  am  conscious,  sometimes,  of  a  hidden 
purpose  in  things.  The  daughter's  memory  of  her 
father  is  a  beautiful  thing.  Let  us  not  destroy  it !" 


159 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   TRESPASSER 

THE  bishop,  and  the  Ambassador,  when  the 
former's  call  was  ended  that  afternoon,  found 
Barbara  with  Haru  in  the  garden  pagoda. 
She  sat  on  its  wide  ledge,  Haru  at  her  feet,  in  a 
dainty  kimono  of  pale  gray  cotton-crepe  with  a 
woven  pattern  of  plum-blossoms.  The  oval  Japan- 
ese face  showed  no  trace  now  of  the  passionate  anger 
with  which  she  had  fled  from  Phil's  kisses.  If  it  had 
left  a  trace  the  trace  was  hidden  under  the  racial 
mask  that  habitually  glosses  the  surface  of  oriental 
feeling. 

Barbara  had  fallen  in  love  with  Haru's  piquant 
personality — with  her  fragile  loveliness,  her  quaint 
phrasing,  her  utter  desire  to  please.  While  Patricia 
deepened  her  engaging  freckles  on  the  tennis  court, 
she  had  made  the  Japanese  girl  bring  her  samisen 
and  play.  At  first  the  music  had  seemed  uncouth 
and  elfish — a  queer,  barbaric  twanging,  like  an  in- 
toxicated banjo  with  no  bass  string,  tricked  with  un- 
melodious  chirpings,  and  wroven  with  extraordinary 
runs  and  unfamiliar  intervals.  But  slowly,  after  the 
first  few  moments,  there  had  crept  to  her  inner  ear  a 

160 


THE  TRESPASSER 

strange,  errant  rhythm.  She  had  felt  her  feet 
stealthily  gliding,  her  arms  bending,  with  those  of 
the  score  of  listening  children  who  at  the  first  twit- 
tering of  the  strings,  had  crept  from  stables  and 
servants'  quarters  like  infant  toads  in  a  shower. 
Afterward  Haru,  in  her  pretty  broken  English,  had 
told  her  stories — old  legends  that  are  embalmed  in 
the  geisha  dances,  of  the  forty-seven  Ronln,  and  of 
the  great  Shogun  who  slept  by  the  huge  stone  lan- 
terns in  Uyeno  Park. 

When  Barbara  and  her  uncle  started  on  their 
walk — he  was  to  show  her  the  Chapel — the  Am- 
bassador strolled  with  them  as  far  as  the  main  gate 
of  the  compound.  A  string  of  carnages  from  the 
Imperial  stables — each  with  the  golden  chrysanthe- 
mum on  its  lacquered  panel — was  just  passing. 
Their  occupants,  some  of  whom  were  Japanese  and 
some  foreign,  were  in  naval  uniform,  their  breasts 
covered  with  orders. 

"The  officers  of  the  foreign  Squadron,  no  doubt," 
said  the  Ambassador,  "being  shown  the  sights  of  the 
capital.  Day  after  to-morrow  the  Minister  of  Ma- 
rine begins  the  official  entertainment  with  a  ball  in 
their  honor.  You  will  enjoy  that,  Barbara." 

"I  wish,"  said  the  bishop,  "that  the  pessimists 
who  are  so  fond  of  talking  of  diplomatic  'strain' 
could  see  a  Japanese  welcome.  The  stay  of  these 
officers  will  be  one  long  festivity.  Yet  to  read  a 

161 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

Continental  journal  you  would  think  every  other 
Japanese  was  carrying  a  club  for  use  if  they  ven- 
tured ashore." 

The  Ambassador  watched  the  cavalcade  thought- 
fully. For  weeks,  the  newspapers  of  European  capi- 
tals had  talked  of  conflicting  interests  and  unrecon- 
ciled differences  between  the  two  countries.  He 
knew  that  there  was  little  in  this,  in  fact,  save  the 
journalistic  necessity  for  "news"  and  a  nervousness 
that  seems  periodically  to  oppress  highly  strung 
Chanceries  as  it  does  individuals.  Beneath  this  sur- 
face current,  diplomacy  had  gone  its  even,  temperate 
way,  undisturbed.  But  as  a  trained  diplomatist  he 
knew  that  the  most  baseless  rumor,  if  too  long  per- 
sisted in,  had  grave  danger,  and  he  had  welcomed 
the  coming  of  the  Squadron,  for  the  sake  of  the 
effect  on  foreign  public  opinion,  of  the  lavish  and 
open-hearted  hospitality  which  Japan  would  offer  it. 
When  the  carriages  had  whirled  past  he  bade  the 
others  good-by  and  went  back  to  his  books. 

Walking  up  the  sloping  "Hill-of-the-Spirit"  to 
the  templed  knoll  behind  it,  Barbara  felt  in  tune  with 
the  afternoon.  All  along  flaunting  camphor-trees 
and  cryptomeria  peered  above  the  skirting  walls 
and  the  scent  of  wistaria  was  as  heavy  as  that 
of  new-mown  hay.  The  ground  was  white  and 
dusty  and  here  and  there  briskly  moving  hand- 
carts were  sprinkling  water.  Little  girls,  with  their 

162 


THE  TRESPASSER 

hair  in  pigtails  tied  with  bright-colored  yarn  and 
ribbon,  and  in  brilliant  figured  kimono  of  red  and 
purple,  ran  hither  and  thither  in  some  game,  and  on 
the  gutter-edge  a  naked  baby  stared  up  at  them 
with  grave,  mistrustful  eyes,  his  shaven  head  bob- 
bing in  the  sunshine.  Half-way  up  the  hill  a  group 
of  coolies  were  resting  beside  their  carts.  Their 
faces  had  the  look  of  lotos-eaters,  languid  and 
serene.  As  they  walked  Barbara  told  of  the  ad- 
venture of  the  evening  before  with  the  wolf- 
hound, and  of  the  Review  of  the  morning,  and  the 
bishop,  shrewdly  regarding  her,  thought  he  had 
never  seen  her  so  beautiful. 

"What  has  happened — who  has  happened,  Bar- 
bara ?"  he  asked,  for  he  suddenly  guessed  he  knew 
what  that  look  meant. 

Her  eyes  dropped  and  her  rising  color  confirmed 
his  idea.  "I  don't  know — do  you  ?" 

He  took  out  his  pocketbook  and  handed  her  a 
clipping  from  a  morning  newspaper.  It  chronicled 
the  arrival  of  the  yacht  Barbara. 

She  looked  at  him  out  of  eyes  brimming  with 
laughter : 

'The  time  has  come,'  the  Walrus  said, 

'To  talk  of  many  things : 
Of  shoes — and  ships — and  sealing-wax — 

Of  cabbages ' 

"But  not  Ware?"  he  finished.    "All  right.    He'll 
163 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

speak  for  himself,  no  doubt.  The  paper  says  he's 
at  Nara ;  but  then,  he  doesn't  know  you  are  here  yet. 
We  pushed  our  sailing  date  forward,  you  remem- 
ber." 

"I'm  trying  to  curb  my  impatience,"  she  said 
blithely.  "Meanwhile,  I  can't  tell  you  what  a  good 
time  I'm  having.  I  shall  stay  in  Japan  for  ever:  I 
can  feel  it  in  my  bones!  I  shall  have  a  Japanese 
house  with  a  chaperon,  two  tailless  cats  and  an  amah, 
and  study  the  three  systems  of  flower-arrangement 
and  the  Tea-Ceremony." 

They  had  reached  the  huge  gate,  with  its  little 
booth  in  which  a  sentry  now  stood.  "He  wears  the 
uniform  of  the  Imperial  Guard,"  the  bishop  said. 
"That  is  the  residence  of  one  of  the  daughters  of 
the  Emperor." 

He  turned  into  the  lane  that  opened  opposite.  It 
was  hedged  with  some  unfamiliar  thorny  shrub  with 
woolly  yellow  blossoms,  and  a  little  way  inside  stood 
an  old  temple  gate  with  a  stone  torii.  She  stopped 
with  an  exclamation. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "there  is  the  Chapel." 

Barbara  was  looking  opposite  the  torii,  where, 
amid  the  flowering  green,  a  slanting  roof  lifted, 
holding  a  cross.  It  stood  out,  whitely  cut  against 
the  blue,  a  silent  witness.  Facing  the  dragon- 
swarming  gate,  it  made  her  think  of  pale  martyrs  in 
gorgeous  pagan  countries,  of  Paul  standing  before 

164 


THE  TRESPASSER 

the  Temple  of  Diana  in  Ephesus,  and  lonely  Chris- 
tian anchorites  in  profane  lands  of  green  and  gold. 

"What  Christians  some  of  these  Japanese  make !" 
the  bishop  said,  as  they  finished  their  tour  of  the 
building.  "I  know  of  a  carpenter  in  Sendai  who 
became  a  convert.  He  used  to  visit  the  prison  and 
one  day  he  took  a  woman  there  to  see  her  husband, 
a  hardened  and  obdurate  criminal.  In  the  interview 
the  man  stabbed  his  wife.  The  chief-of-police,  on 
account  of  the  carpenter's  reputation  for  justice  and 
pure-living,  left  the  punishment  of  the  man  to  him. 
What  do  you  think  he  did  ?" 

She  could  not  guess. 

"He  refused  to  punish  him  at  all,  on  the  simple 
ground  that  Christ  would  not.  As  a  result  the  con- 
vict is  now  one  of  the  best  Christian  teachers  we 
have  in  Sendai.  The  month  before  this  happened," 
he  continued,  smiling  reflectively,  "a  thief  broke  into 
the  rectory  and  stole  my  watch.  I  notified  the  police, 
and  they  brought  it  back  to  me  in  a  few  days.  But 
where  is  my  thief?  You  remember  Jean  Valjean 
and  the  silver  candle-sticks?  Maybe  the  Sendai 
carpenter  was  nearer  right  than  I." 

Barbara  had  paused  in  front  of  the  black  space 
for  the  stained-glass  window. 

"It  will  be  here,"  the  bishop  said,  answering  her 
thought.  "It  is  to  be  put  in  place  in  time  for  the 
dedication  service  to-morrow  morning."  He  stepped 

165 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

to  the  door  and  peered  into  the  interior.  "You  will 
want  to  look  about  a  bit,  no  doubt.  I  have  a  call  to 
make  in  the  neighborhood — suppose  I  stop  on  my 
way  back  for  you." 

For  a  few  moments  after  his  departure  Barbara 
stood  listening  to  the  dulled  sound  of  the  workmen's 
tools.  The  roof  of  the  temple  opposite  had  a  curv- 
ing, Tartar-like  ridge,  at  either  end  of  which  was  a 
huge  fish,  its  head  pointed  inward,  its  wide  forked 
tail  twisted  high  in  air.  Under  its  scalloped  eaves 
she  saw  the  flash  of  a  swallow,  and  far  above  a 
gaudy  paper  kite  careened  in  the  blue. 

She  crossed  the  lane  and  looked  into  the  shady 
indosure,  where  the  bronze  lanterns  and  the  tomb- 
stones stood,  as  gray  and  lichened  as  the  stone 
beneath  her  feet.  Before  many  of  the  graves  stood 
green  bamboo  vases  holding  bunches  of  fresh  leaves. 
An  old  woman  was  moving  noiselessly  about,  water- 
ing these  with  a  long  bamboo  dipper  and  lighting 
incense-sticks  as  she  went.  In  one  place  a  young 
man  knelt  before  an  ancestral  monument,  softly 
clapping  his  hands  in  prayer.  The  whole  place 
was  drenched  in  a  tone  limpid  and  serene,  the  very 
infusion  of  peace.  Only  in  the  black  temple  interior 
she  caught  the  dim  glow  of  candles  and  somewhere 
a  muffled  baton  was  tapping  on  hollow  wood. 

"Min  .  .  .  Min  .  .  .  Min  .  .  Min  .  . 
166 


THE  TRESPASSER 

Min  .  Min  .  Min-Min-Min-Minminminminmin 
.  .  ."  At  first  slowly,  then  faster  and  faster, 
till  the  notes  merged  and  died  away  in  a  muttering 
roll,  to  begin  once  more  with  the  slowness  of  a  leis- 
urely metronome. 

The  ornate  front  of  the  building  on  the  right  of 
the  yard  attracted  her  and  she  went  nearer.  Be- 
yond the  hedge  she  could  see  a  portion  of  its  gar- 
den. Reflecting  that  this  was  a  temple  property  and 
hence,  no  doubt,  open  to  the  public,  she  unlatched 
its  bamboo  gate  and  entered. 

Before  her  curved  a  line  of  flat  stepping-stones  set 
in  clean,  gray  gravel.  On  one  side  was  a  low  ca- 
melia  hedge  spotted  with  blossoms  of  deep  crimson 
and  on  the  other  a  miniature  thicket  of  fern  and 
striped  ground-bamboo.  Beyond  this  rose  a  mossy 
hillock  up  whose  green  sides  clambered  an  irregular 
pathway,  set  with  tall  Shinto  lanterns  and  large 
stones,  like  gigantic,  many-colored  quartz  pebbles. 
Here  and  there  the  flushed  pink  of  cherry-trees  made 
the  sky  a  tapestry  of  blue-rose,  and  in  the  hollows 
grew  a  burnished,  purple  shrub  that  seemed  to  be 
powdering  the  ground  with  the  velvet  petals  of 
pansies. 

Barbara  had  seen  many  photographs  of  Japanese 
gardens,  but  they  had  either  lacked  color  or  been 
over-tinted.  This  lay  chromatic,  visualized,  braided 
with  precious  hues  and  steeped  in  the  tender,  un- 

167 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

shamed  glories  of  a  tropic  spring.  For  a  moment 
she  shut  her  eyes  to  fix  the  picture  for  ever  on  her 
brain. 

She  opened  them  again  to  a  flood  of  sunlight  on 
the  gilded  carvings  of  the  ancient  structure.  Its 
shoji  had  been  noiselessly  drawn  open,  and  a  man 
stood  there  looking  fixedly  at  her. 


1 68 


CHAPTER    XXI 

THE   RESURRECTION    OF    THE   DEAD 

IT  WAS  the  man  she  had  seen  that  morning  at 
the  entrance  to  the  little  park. 

Barbara  realized  instantly  and  uneasily  that 
she  was  an  intruder.  Yet  she  felt  an  intense  interest, 
mixed  of  what  she  had  heard  and  of  what  she  had 
imagined.  His  outre  street-costume  had  now  been 
laid  aside;  he  wore  Japanese  dress,  with  dark  gray 
houri  and  white  cleft  sock.  His  iron-gray  head  was 
bare.  The  expression  of  his  face  was  conscious  and 
alert,  with  a  sort  of  savage  shyness. 

"I  am  afraid  I  am  intruding,"  she  said.  "I  ought 
to  have  known  the  garden  was  private." 

"Private  gardens  may  sometimes  be  seen,  I  sup- 
pose." 

The  words  were  ungracious,  though  the  timbre  of 
the  voice  was  musical  and  soft.  "I  beg  your  par- 
don," she  said,  and  moved  away. 

He  made  a  gesture,  a  quick  timid  movement  of 
one  hand,  and  stepped  down  toward  her.  "No,"  he 
said  almost  violently.  "I  don't  want  you  to  go. 
Can't  you  see  I  mean  you  to  stay  ?" 

Barbara  saw  clearly  now  the  variation  in  his  eyes; 
169 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

the  larger  one  was  clouded,  as  though  a  film  covered 
the  iris.  It  gave  her  a  slight  feeling  of  repugnance, 
which  she  instantly  regretted,  for,  as  though  ren- 
dered conscious  of  it  through  a  sensitiveness  almost 
telepathic,  he  turned  slightly,  and  put  a  hand  to  his 
brow  to  cover  it. 

"Oh,"  she  said  hastily,  "I  am  glad.  This  is  the 
most  beautiful  garden  I  have  ever  seen." 

He  looked  at  her  quickly  and  keenly  with  his  one 
bright  eye.  It  held  none  of  the  swart,  in-turned  re- 
flectiveness of  the  Japanese;  it  was  sharp  and  rest- 
less. Its  brilliance,  under  eyebrows  that  seemed 
on  the  verge  of  a  frown,  was  almost  fierce.  The 
curved,  gray  mustache  did  not  hide  the  strong,  ir- 
regular, white  teeth. 

"You  know  Japanese  gardens?" 

"Not  yet,"  she  answered.  "Japan  is  new  to  me. 
I  needn't  say  how  lovely  I  think  this  is — you  must 
grow  tired  hearing  strangers  rhapsodize  over  it !" 

"Strangers!"  he  laughed;  the  sound  was  not  mu- 
sical like  his  spoken  voice,  but  harsh  and  grating. 
"I  have  one  joy — no  stranger  ever  dreams  of  com- 
ing to  see  me !" 

"I  should  have  said  'your  friends,'  "  said  Barbara. 

"Friends  would  be  more  troublesome  than  my  en- 
emies," he  said  grimly,  "who,  at  least,  never  ask  me 
where  I  don't  want  to  go." 

She  looked  at  him  wonderingly.  She  had  never 
met  any  one  in  the  least  like  him.  His  features 

170 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  DEAD 

were  refined  and  unquestionably  aristocratic  but  his 
whole  expression  was  quiveringly  sensitive,  resent- 
fully shy.  It  was  the  expression,  she  thought,  of 
one  whom  a  look  might  cut  like  a  whiplash,  a  word 
sting  like  a  searing  acid. 

"The  only  foreigners  I  know  are  those  who  write 
me  letters :  malicious  busybodies,  people  who  want 
subscriptions  to  all  sorts  of  shams,  or  invite  me  to 
join  respectable,  humbug  societies,  or  write  merely 
to  gratify  a  low  curiosity.  As  for  friends,  I  have 
none.'' 

"Surely,  I  saw  you  with  one  this  morning,"  she 
said,  with  a  smile. 

"Ah,"  he  said,  his  look  changing  swiftly ;  "I  don't 
count  Ishikichi.  Children  understand  me:' 

"And  me,"  she  said.  "I  made  friends  with  Ishi- 
kichi this  morning.  He  was  catching  crickets  in  the 
garden.  I  am  visiting  the  American  Embassy,"  she 
added. 

"The  garden  there  has  been  a  famous  playground 
for  the  child,  no  doubt,"  he  returned.  "His  boon 
companion  lived  just  opposite  the  compound." 

"The  little  Toru,  who  was  run  over?" 

"Yes.  Ishikichi  has  been  inconsolable.  To-day, 
however,  he  has  ceased  to  sorrow.  The  owner  of 
the  carriage  has  sent  six  hundred  yen  to  the  father, 
who  is  now  able  to  pay  his  debts  and  enlarge  his 
business.  The  tablet  on  the  Buddha-shelf  that  bears 
the  little  boy's  death-name  will  be  henceforth  the 

171 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

dearest  possession  of  the  family.  To  Ishikichi  he 
is  a  glorious  hero  whose  passing  it  would  be  a  crime 
to  grieve."  He  broke  off,  with  the  odd,  timid  ges- 
ture she  had  seen  before.  "But  you  came  to  see  the 
garden,"  he  said.  "If  you  like,  I  will  show  it  to 
you." 

Without  waiting  for  her  answer,  he  led  the  way, 
moving  quickly  and  agilely.  The  softness  of  his 
tread  in  the  cloth  tabi  seemed  almost  feminine.  A 
little  farther  on  he  turned  abruptly : 

"When  you  passed  me  in  the  carriage  this  morn- 
ing you  must  have  thought  me  unmannerly,"  he 
said.  "I  was,  no  doubt.  My  manners  are  only  vil- 
lainous notions  of  my  own." 

"Not  at  all,"  she  answered.    "I  only  thought — " 

"Well?" 

"That  perhaps  I  reminded  you  of  some  one  you 
had  known." 

He  turned  and  walked  on  without  reply.  As  they 
proceeded,  from  behind  the  flowering  bush  came  the 
tintinnabulent  tinkle  and  drip  of  running  water.  The 
stepping-stones  meandered  on  in  graceful  curves 
and  presently  arrived  at  a  little  lake  at  whose  edge 
grew  pale  water-hyacinths  and  whose  surface  was 
mottled  with  light  green  lotos-leaves,  dotted  here 
and  there  with  pink  half-opened  buds.  Now  and 
then  these  stirred  languidly  at  the  flirt  of  a  golden 
fin,  while  over  them,  in  flashes  of  flame-yel- 
low, darted  hawking  dragon-flies.  Thickets  of 

172 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  DEAD 

maroon-tinted  maple  glowed  in  the  sunlight  and 
clusters  of  yellow  oranges  hung  on  dwarf  trees.  On 
the  lake's  margin  bright-hued  pebbles  were  strewn 
between  rounded  stones  whose  edges  were  soft  and 
green  with  moss.  Barbara  longed  to  feel  those 
mossy  boulders  with  her  bare  feet — to  splash  in  that 
limpid  water  like  a  happy  child. 

"This  is  the  best  view,"  he  said  simply. 

Looking  on  the  endless  symphonies  of  green,  it 
came  to  her  for  the  first  time  what  fascination  could 
be  wrought  of  mere  brown  stone  and  foliage.  The 
effect  had  a  curious  sense  to  her  of  the  unsexual  and 
unhuman.  Again,  with  the  odd  impression  of  telep- 
athy with  which  he  had  covered  his  myopic  eye,  he 
seemed  to  answer  her  thought : 

"The  Japanese,"  he  said,  "sees  Nature  as  neuter. 
His  very  language  possesses  no  gender.  He  does 
not  subconsciously  think  of  a  young  girl  when  he 
looks  at  a  swaying  palm,  nor  of  the  lines  of  a  beauti- 
ful body  when  he  sees  the  undulations  of  the  hills. 
He  notes  much  in  nature,  therefore,  that  western 
art — which  is  passional — doesn't  observe  at  all." 

"I  see,"  she  said.  "We  insist  on  looking  through 
a  tinted  film  that  makes  everything  iridescent?" 

"And  deflects  the  lines  of  forms.  The  Japanese 
art  is  less  artificial.  Now — turn  to  the  left." 

In  one  spot  the  trees  and  shrubbery  had  been  cut 
clean  away,  and  through  the  vista  she  saw  the  dis- 
tant mountains,  clear  and  pure  as  though  carved  of 

173 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

tinted  jade  set  in  a  plate  of  lapus  lazuli.  A  faint 
curdle  of  cloud  frayed  from  their  jagged  tops,  and 
above  it  hung  the  dreamy  snow-clad  cone  of  Fuji, 
palely  emerald  as  the  tint  of  glaciers  under  an 
Alaskan  sky.  A  single  crow,  a  jet-black  moving 
spot,  flapped  its  way  across  the  azure  expanse. 

"The  one  touch  of  blue,"  he  said.  ''The  color 
ethical,  the  color  pantheistic,  the  color  of  the  idea  of 
the  divine !" 

His  personality,  so  touched  with  mystery,  inter- 
ested Barbara  intensely.  The  sense  of  strangeness 
and  un  familiarity  had  quite  vanished.  She  sat 
down  on  one  of  the  warm  boulders.  Thorn  rested 
one  foot  on  the  bent  trunk  of  a  dwarf  tree  and 
leaned  his  elbow  on  his  knee,  his  hand,  in  the  gesture 
that  seemed  habitual,  covering  his  eye.  In  the  wide 
kimono  sleeve  the  forearm  was  bare  and  suggested 
a  peculiar  physical  cleanliness  like  that  of  a  wild 
animal. 

"How  strange  it  is,"  she  said,  "that  for  centuries, 
the  western  world  believed  this  wonderful  land  in- 
habited by  a  barbarous  people — because  it  didn't 
possess  western  civilization!" 

He  made  an  exclamation.  "Civilization !  It  is  a 
hateful  word!  It  stands  in  the  West  for  all  that  is 
sordid  and  ugly.  It  has  bred  monstrous,  thunder- 
ing piles  built  up  to  heaven,  eternally  smoking  the 
sky — places  of  architecture  and  mechanics  gone 
mad,  where  one  lives  by  machinery  and  moves  by 

174 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  DEAD 

steam,  and  is  perpetually  tormented  by  absurd  con- 
ventions. I  have  lived  in  its  cities.  I  have  walked 
their  selfish  streets,  shy  and  shabby  and  hungry!" 

"Hungry!" 

"Yes — and  worse.  I've  not  spoken  of  those  expe- 
riences for  years.  I  don't  know  why  I  speak  of 
them  now  to  you.  Does  it  surprise  you  to  hear  that 
I  have  known  poverty?"  For  the  first  time  he 
turned  fully  facing  her.  His  supple  hand  had  left 
his  brow  and  moved  in  gestures  at  one  time  fierce 
and  graceful.  "When  I  was  sixteen  I  learned  what 
penury  meant  in  London.  Once  I  was  driven  to  take 
refuge  in  a  workhouse  in  some  evil  quarter  of  the 
Thames.  My  memory  of  it  is  a  mixture  of  dread- 
ful sights  and  sounds — of  windows  thrown  violently 
open  or  shattered  to  pieces — of  shrieks  of  murder — 
of  heavy  plunges  in  the  river." 

Barbara  shuddered  in  the  warm  sunlight.  Over 
the  edge  of  the  garden  was  a  misty  space  where 
foliage  and  roofs  sank  out  of  sight,  to  rise  again  in 
long  undulations  of  green  trees  and  gray  tiling,  like 
a  painted  ocean.  Far  away  lifted  the  leafy  plateau 
of  Aoyama,  with  its  blur  of  terra-cotta  barracks.  At 
an  immense  distance  a  great  temple  roof  jutted,  and 
still  farther  away  the  spread-out,  populous  city 
curved  up,  like  the  rim  of  a  basin,  to  a  hazy  horizon. 
Yet  on  this  background  of  pleasantness  and  peace 
those  other  scenes  of  horror — such  was  the  vehe- 
mence of  his  tone,  the  savage  directness  in  his 

175 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

phrases — seemed  to  start  up,  blank  and  wretched 
apparitions,  before  her. 

"At  nineteen,"  he  went  on,  "I  found  myself  in 
New  York,  delicate,  diffident,  satanically  proud,  and 
without  a  friend — one  of  the  billion  ants  crawling  in 
the  skeleton  of  the  mastodon.  I  was  threadbare  and 
meals  were  scant  and  uncertain — a  little,  penniless, 
half-blind,  eccentric  wanderer !  I  lived  in  a  carpen- 
ter-shop and  slept  on  the  shavings.  One  week  I  sold 
coral  for  a  Neapolitan  peddler.  Oh,  I  learned  my 
civilization  well !  The  very  memory  now  of  walking 
down  those  roaring  canons  of  streets — all  cut  gran- 
ite and  iron  fury,  and  hideous  houses  two  hundred 
feet  high — moos  at  me  in  the  night !  It  is  frightful, 
nightmarish,  devilish!  And  when  one  can  be  here 
under  a  violet  sky,  in  sight  of  blue  peaks  and  an 
eternally  lilac,  luke-warm  sea !" 

His  hand  swept  across  the  hewn  vista — to  the 
wrild,  bold  background  of  indigo  hills,  with  its  slen- 
der phantom  above  them,  swimming  in  the  half- 
tropical  blue.  "It  is  better,"  he  said,  "to  live  in 
Japan  in  sack-cloth  and  ashes,  than  to  own  the  half 
of  any  other  country.  I  am  as  old  as  the  three-legged 
crow  that  inhabits  the  sun.  I  can't  read  the  comic 
papers  or  a  French  novel.  I  shouldn't  go  to  the  Paris 
opera  if  it  were  next  door.  I  shouldn't  like  to  visit 
the  most  beautiful  lady  and  be  received  in  evening 
dress.  I  shall  pass  my  life  in  sandals  and  a  kimono, 
and  when  it's  over  I  shall  be  under  the  big  trees  in 

176 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  DEAD 

the  old  Buddhist  cemetery  there,  beside  the  nunnery, 
among  the  fireflies  and  grasshoppers,  with  six  laths 
above  me,  inscribed  with  prayers  in  an  unknown 
tongue  and  a  queerly  carved  monument  typifying  the 
five  elements  into  which  we  melt  away." 

He  shook  his  broad  shoulders.  Again  his  hand 
went  to  his  brow  and  he  half  turned  away. 

"But  now  even  Japan  must  adopt  western  civ- 
ilization," he  said  bitterly.  It  is  'putting  a  lily  in 
the  mouth  of  hell !'  Carpets,  pianos,  windows,  brass- 
bands — to  make  Goths  out  of  Greeks !  Who  would 
want  them  changed?  Who  would  not  love  them  as 
they  are,  better  than  the  children  of  boasted  western 
civilizations — industrious,  pleasing,  facing  death 
with  a  smile,  not  because  they  are  such  fatalists  as 
the  Arabs,  for  instance,  but  because  they  have  no 
fear  of  the  hereafter.  The  old  courtesy,  the  old 
faith,  the  old  kindliness — will  they  weather  it?  Or 
vanish  like  snow  in  sun  ?  The  poetry,  the  legend,  the 
lovely  and  touching  observances  are  going  fast. 
Modernism  gives  them  foreign  fireworks  now,  and 
forbids  the  ghost-boats  of  the  Bon !  I  wish  I  could 
fly  out  of  Meiji  for  ever,  back  against  the  stream  of 
time,  into  tempo  fourteen  hundred  years  ago !" 

"The  Bon?"  she  said.  "What  is  that?" 

"I  forgot,"  he  said,  "that  Japan  is  all  new  to  you," 
and  told  her  of  the  Japanese  All-Souls  Day — the 
Feast  of  Lanterns,  when  the  spirits  of  the  dead  re- 
turn, to  be  fed  with  tea  in  tiny  cups  and  with  the 

177 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

odor  of  incense ;  how,  when  the  dusk  falls,  on  canal 
and  river  the  little  straw  boats  are  launched  with 
written  messages  and  lighted  paper  lanterns,  to 
bear  back  the  blessed  ghosts. 

Returning,  Barbara  led  the  way.  Once  she  stooped 
over  a  single,  strange  blossom  on  a  long  stalk,  v  hose 
golden  center  shone  cloudily  through  silky  filaments 
like  the  leaves  of  immortelles.  "What  is  that?"  she 
asked. 

"It  is  a  wild  flower  I  found  on  one  of  my  inland 
rambles,"  he  said.  "Perhaps  it  has  no  name.  I  call 
it  Yume-no-hana — the  Tlower-of-Dream.'  It  will 
open  almost  any  day  now." 

"Have  you  quite  forgiven  me  for  breaking  in?" 
she  asked,  as  they  walked  along  the  stepping-stones. 

For  the  first  time  she  surprised  him  in  a  smile.  It 
lit  his  face  with  a  sudden  irradiation.  ".Will  you  do 
it  again  ?" 

"May  I — some  time  ?" 

"Then  you  are  not  afraid?  Remember  I  am  a 
renegade,  a  follower  of  Buddha,  and  a  most  atro- 
cious and  damnable  taboo!" 

"Afraid!"  For  a  moment  they  looked  at  each 
other,  and  she  saw  a  little  quiver  touch  his  lips.  "I 
shall  come  again  to-morrow — to  see  the  flower." 

"Just  one  thing,"  he  said.  "I  am  a  solitary.  If 
you  would  not  mention — to  any  one — " 

"I  understand,"  she  answered. 

He  walked  by  her  side  to  the  bamboo  gate.  "I 
178 


THE  RESURRECTION  OF  THE  DEAD 

am  glad,"  she  said,  "that  I  remind  you  of  some  one 
you  liked." 

"Perhaps  it  was  some  one  I  knew  in  a  dream,"  he 
answered. 

"Yes,"  she  said.    "Perhaps  it  was." 

As  she  spoke  she  saw  him  start.  She  looked  up. 
Across  the  temple  yard,  through  the  entrance  torii, 
she  saw  the  bishop  coming  up  the  lane.  He  was 
walking  absorbed  in  thought,  his  eyes  on  the  ground, 
his  hands  clasped  behind  him. 

"Good-by,"  she  said,  and  stepped  through  the 
gate. 

But  Thorn  did  not  answer.  At  sight  of  the  ap- 
proaching figure  he  had  drawn  back  abruptly.  Now 
he  turned  sharply  away  into  a  path  which  led  toward 
the  temple.  She  saw  him  once  glance  swiftly  back 
over  his  shoulder  before  he  disappeared  behind  the 
hedges. 

The  man  with  whom  Barbara  had  been  talking 
went  slowly  up  the  temple  steps.  His  face  was  hag- 
gard and  drawn.  There  he  paused  and  looked  back 
across  the  yard. 

"Credo  in  resurrectionem  mortuorum"  he  mut- 
tered— "Yes,  I  believe  in  the  resurrection  of  the 
dead!" 

As  he  stood  there  the  head  priest  pushed  open  the 
shoji  He  bowed  to  the  other  on  the  threshold  and 
came  out. 

179 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"To-day  my  abashed  thought  has  dwelt  on  your 
exalted  work,"  he  said.  "Is  our  new  image  of  Kwan- 
on  peerlessly  all  but  done,  perhaps  ?" 

Thorn  shook  his  head.  "It  moves  with  exalted 
slowness.  To-day  I  contemptibly  have  not  worked." 

The  priest  looked  at  him  curiously,  through  his 
gold-rimmed  spectacles. 

"You  are  honorably  unwell,"  he  said.  "It  is  bet- 
ter to  lie  down  in  the  heat  of  the  day.  Presently  I 
will  say  an  insignificant  prayer  to  the  Hotoke-Saina 
-*— the  Shining  Ones — for  your  illustrious  recovery." 

"I  am  not  ill,"  was  the  answer.  "Be  not  au- 
gustly  concerned." 

He  turned  away  slowly  and  crossed  the  little 
bridge  to  his  own  abode. 


180 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  DANCE  OF  THE  CAPITAL 

THE  Ginza— the  "Street-of-the-Silversmiths" 
• — is  the  Broadway,  the  Piccadilly,  the  Boule- 
vard des  Italiens  of  modern  Tokyo.     Here 
old  and  new  war  daily  in  a  combat  in  which  the  new 
is  daily  victor.     Modern  shop-fronts  of  stone  and 
brick   stand   cheek  by  jowl  with   graceful,   flimsy 
frame  structures  that  are  pure  Japanese.     Trolley- 
cars,  built  in  the  United  States,  fill  the  street  with 
clangor  and  its  pavements  (for  it  has  them)  roar 
with  trade. 

In  its  flowing  current  one  may  see  many  types: 
Americans  from  the  near-by  Imperial  Hotel,  bris- 
tling with  enthusiasm;  earnest  tourists  with  Mur- 
rays  tucked  in  their  armpits,  doggedly  "doing" 
the  country ;  members  of  foreign  Legations  whirling 
in  victorias;  Chinamen,  queued  and  decorously  clad 
in  flowered  silk  brocade ;  an  occasional  Korean  with 
queerly  shaped  hat  of  woven  horse-hair ;  over-dandi- 
fied O-share-Sama — "high-collar"  men,  as  the  Tokyo 
phrase  goes — in  tweeds  and  yellow  puttees;  com- 
fortable merchants  and  men  of  affairs  in  dull-colored 
kimono  and  clogs;  blue-clad  workmen  with  the 

181 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

marks  of  their  trades  stamped  in  great  red  or  white 
characters  on  their  backs;  sallow,  bare- footed  stu- 
dents with  caps  of  Wascda  or  the  Imperial  Univer- 
sity; stolid  and  placid-faced  Buddhist  priests  in 
rick'sha,  en  route  to  some  temple  funeral ;  soldiers  in 
khaki  with  red-  and  yellow-striped  trousers;  coolies 
dragging  carts;  country  people  on  excursions  from 
thatched  inland  villages,  clothed  in  common  cloth 
and  viewing  the  capital  for  the  first  time  with  in- 
drawn breath  and  chattering  exclamations;  rich 
noblemen,  beggars,  idlers,  guides — all  are  tributary 
to  this  river. 

When  evening  falls  women  and  children  predomi- 
nate :  bent  old  women  with  brightly  blackened  teeth ; 
patient-faced  mothers  with  babies  on  their  backs 
toddling  on  clacking  wooden  geta;  white-faced  ver- 
milion-lipped geisha  glimpsing  by  in  rick'sha  to 
some  tea-house  entertainment :  coolie  women  dressed 
like  men,  trudging  in  the  roadway;  girl-students 
peering  into  jewelers'  windows;  children  clad  like 
gaudy  moths  and  butterflies,  clattering  hand  in 
hand,  or  pursuing  one  another  with  shrill  cries. 

Before  the  sun  has  well  set  lanterns  begin  to 
twinkle  and  glow  above  doorways — yellow  electric 
bulbs  in  clusters,  white  acetylene  globes,  smoky  oil 
lamps,  and  great  red  and  white  paper-lanterns  lit  by 
candles.  As  the  violet  of  the  dusk  deepens  to  pur- 
ple, these  multiply  till  the  vista  is  ablaze.  Lines 
of  colored  lights  in  pink  and  lemon  break  out  like 

182 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  CAPITAL 

air-flowers  along  upper  stories  of  tea-houses,  from 
whose  interiors  come  the  strumming  of  biwa  and 
the  twang  of  samisen.  On  frail  balconies,  pricked 
out  with  yellow  lanterns,  dwarf  pines  or  jars  of 
growing  azalea  hang  their  masses  of  soft  green  or 
pink  down  over  the  passers-by.  From  open  shoji 
women  lean,  their  kimono  parted,  their  rounded 
breasts  bared  to  the  cool  night. 

On  the  curb  peripatetic  dealers  squat  in  little  stalls 
formed  of  movable  screens  with  their  wares  spread 
before  them;  curio-merchants  with  a  melange  of 
brass,  crystal  and  bronze;  dealers  in  susumushi — 
musical  insects  in  the  tiniest  cages  of  plaited  straw ; 
sellers  of  Buddhist  texts  and  worm-eaten,  painted 
scrolls;  of  ink-horns,  shoe-sticks,  eye-glasses  and 
children's  toys.  At  intervals  grills  of  savory  waka- 
fuji  (salted  fry-cakes)  sizzle  over  charcoal  braziers 
which  throw  a  red  glow  on  an  intent  row  of  chil- 
dren's faces.  Here  and  there  a  shop-front  emits  the 
blatant  bark  of  a  foreign  phonograph.  On  the  cor- 
ners men  with  arms  full  of  vernacular  evening  news- 
papers call  the  names  of  the  sheets  in  musical 
cadences,  with  a  quaint,  upward  inflection.  The  air  is 
filled  with  a  heavy,  rich  odor,  suggesting  the  pomade 
of  women's  head-dresses,  sake,  and  sandalwood.  In 
the  roadway  every  vehicle  contributes  its  bobbing 
lantern,  till  the  traffic  seems  a  celestial  Saturnalia, 
staggering  with  drunken  stars. 

So  it  looked  to  Barbara  as  her  two  goriki — 
183 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"strong-pull  men" — whirled  her  rubber-tired  rick'- 
sha  across  the  interminable  city  in  her  first  bewilder- 
ing view  of  Tokyo  by  night.  Daunt,  for  her  benefit, 
had  arranged  a  trip  to  the  Cherry- Viewing-Festival 
on  the  Sumida  River,  and  a  Japanese  dinner  at  the 
Ogets' — the  Cherry-Moon  Tea-House — in  the  fa- 
mous district  of  Asak'sa,  where  the  great  temple  of 
Kwan-on  the  Merciful  shines  with  its  ever-burning 
candles.  They  had  started  from  the  Embassy :  Bar- 
oness Stroloff,  the  wife  of  the  Bulgarian  Minister 
and  Patricia's  especial  favorite,  the  twin  sisters  of  the 
Danish  Secretary,  the  Swiss  Minister's  daughter 
and  two  young  army  officers  studying  the  language 
— all  of  whom  Barbara  had  met  at  the  Review — and 
the  long  procession  (since  police  regulations  in  To- 
kyo forbid  rick'sha  to  travel  abreast)  trailed  "goose- 
fashion,"  threading  in  and  out,  a  writhing,  yellow- 
linked  chain. 

Daunt  had  traced  their  route  with  Barbara  on  a 
map  of  the  city,  and  had  translated  for  her  the 
names  of  the  streets  through  which  they  were  now 
passing.  By  the  Street-of-Big-Horses  they  skirted 
the  District-of-Honorable-Tea-Water,  threaded  the 
Lane-where-Good-Luck-Dwells,  and  so,  by  Middle- 
Monkey-Music-Street,  they  came  to  the  Sumida,  a 
broader,  slothful  Thames,  gleaming  with  ten  thou- 
sand lanterns  on  sampan,  houseboats  and  barges. 
The  bridge  of  Ah-My-Wife  brought  them  to  the 
farther  side.  At  the  entrance  of  a  long  avenue  of 

184 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  CAPITAL 

blooming-  cherry-trees  a  policeman  halted  them. 
Rick'sha  were  not  permitted  beyond  this  point  and 
the  sweating  human  horses  were  abandoned. 

The  road  ran  high  along  the  river  on  a  green  em- 
bankment like  a  wide  wall,  between  double  rows  of 
cherry-trees,  whose  branches  interlocked  overhead. 
It  was  densely  crowded  with  people,  each  one  of 
whom  seemed  to  be  carrying  a  colored  paper-lantern 
or  a  cherry-branch  drooped  over  the  shoulder.  In 
the  hues  of  the  loose,  warm-weather  kimono 
bloomed  all  the  flowers  of  all  the  springs — golds 
and  mauves  and  scarlets  and  magentas — and  every- 
where in  the  lantern-light  fluttered  radiant-winged! 
children,  like  vivid  little  birds  in  a  tropical  forest. 
From  tiny  one-storied  tea-houses  along  the  way, 
with  elevated  mats  covered  with  red  flannel  blan- 
kets, biwa  and  koto  and  samisen  gurgled  and  fluted 
and  tinkled.  On  the  right  the  embankment  de- 
scended steeply,  giving  a  view  of  sunken  roadways 
and  tiled  roofs;  on  the  left  lay  the  long  reaches  of 
the  dreamy  river  murmuring  with  oars  and  voices 
and  vibrating  like  a  vast  flood  of  gold  and  ver- 
milion fireflies. 

Barbara  had  never  imagined  such  a  welter  of 
movement  and  color.  The  soft  flute-like  voices, 
the  slow  shuffling  of  sandals  on  the  dry  earth,  the 
pensive  smiling  faces,  the  pink  flowers  on  every 
hand,  made  this  different  from  any  holiday 
crowd  she  had  ever  seen.  It  suggested  a  car- 

185 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

nival  of  Venice  orientalized,  painted  over  and  set 
blazing  with  Japanese  necromancy. 

Here  and  there  jugglers  and  top-spinners  dis- 
played their  skill  to  staring  spectators.  A  cluster  of 
shaven-headed  babies  swarmed  silently  about  a 
sweetmeat  seller,  and  beside  his  push-cart  a  man 
clad  like  a  gray- feathered  hawk  whistled  discord- 
antly on  a  bamboo  reed  and  gyrated  with  a  vacant 
grin  on  his  pock-marked  face.  Where  the  crowd 
was  less  close  men  tricked  out  in  girls'  attire,  with 
whitened,  clown-like  faces,  turned  somersaults,  and 
through  the  thickest  of  the  press  a  dejected,  blaze- 
faced  ox,  whose  nose  and  forehead  were  painted 
with  spots  of  scarlet,  slowly  drew  a  two-storied 
scaffold  on  which  was  perched  the  god  of  spring — a 
plaster  figure  wreathed  with  flowers.  The  animal's 
ears  were  tickled  by  long  tassels  of  bright  green  and 
red,  and  his  look  was  one  of  patient  boredom.  The 
man  who  led  him  wore  a  short  jerkin,  and  his  bare 
legs,  from  thigh  to  knee,  were  tattooed  in  big,  blue, 
graceful  leaves. 

The  greatest  numbers  surged  about  a  large  tent, 
outside  of  which  waddled  here  and  there  mountains 
of  men,  their  faces  round  as  full  moons,  naked  save 
for  gaily  colored  aprons.  The  fat  hung  on  their 
breasts  in  great  creased  folds  like  an  overfed  baby's, 
and  in  the  lantern-light  their  flesh  looked  an  un- 
healthy, mottled  pink.  Each  wore  his  hair  wound 
in  a  short  queue,  bent  forward  and  tied  in  a  stiff 

186 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  CAPITAL 

loop  on  the  crown.  As  one  of  the  vast  hulks  lum- 
bered by,  cooling  his  moon-face  with  a  tiny  fan, 
Daunt  pointed  him  out  to  Barbara. 

"That  is  the  famous  Hitachiyama,"  he  told  her, 
"the  champion  wrestler  of  Japan." 

"How  big  he  is!" 

"It  runs  in  families,"  he  said.  "They  diet  and 
train,  too,  from  babyhood.  He  weighs  three  hun- 
dred and  forty-seven  pounds." 

A  roar  came  from  the  lighted  canvas  and  a  man 
emerged  and  wrote  something  on  a  sign-board  like 
a  tally-sheet.  Daunt  stopped  and  perused  it.  "You 
may  be  interested,  ladies  and  gentlemen,"  he  said, 
"to  learn  that  Mr.  Terrible-Horse  has  knocked  out 
Mr.  Small-Willow-Tree,  but  that  Mr.  Tiger-Ele- 
phant has  been  allowed  a  foul  over  Mr.  Frozen- 
Stork.  I  wish  we  could  see  a  bout,  but  we  must 
hurry  or  we'll  miss  the  geisha  dancing." 

They  came  presently  where  the  roadway  over- 
looked a  sunken  temple  yard  encircled  by  moats  of 
oozy  slime  dotted  with  pink  and  white  lotos  buds. 
The  inclosure  was  set  with  giant  cryptomeria  cen- 
turies old,  and  was  crowded  with  people.  Stone  steps 
led  down  between  twisted  pine-trees  and  Shinto  lan- 
terns, to  a  gate  on  whose  either  side  was  a  great 
stone  cow,  rampant,  like  the  figures  in  coats-of- 
arms.  There  was  a  droll  contrast  between  the  pos- 
ture and  the  placid  bovine  countenances.  In  the 
center  of  the  inclosure  rose  a  wide  platform  with 

187 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

a  tasseled  curtain  like  the  stage  of  a  theater.  Oppo- 
site was  a  pavilion  in  which  sat  rows  of  women  in 
dark-colored  dress,  moveless  as  images  and  holding 
musical  instruments.  The  whole  flagged  space  be- 
tween jostled  with  the  iridescent,  lantern-carrying 
throng.  A  priest  led  the  party  to  seats  at  one  side 
on  mats  reserved  for  foreign  visitors. 

"Look,  Barbara,"  said  Patricia.  "There  goes  our 
friend  the  expert — across  there.  He  looks  bigger 
and  pastier  than  ever." 

Bersonin  was  dressed  in  white  flannel  which  ac- 
centuated his  enormous  size.  A  younger  man  was 
with  him,  smoking  a  cigarette,  and  in  their  wake 
followed  a  Japanese  servant. 

The  rest  of  the  party  had  turned  and  were  look- 
ing in  that  direction.  "Why,"  said  Baroness  Stro- 
loff,  "that's  Doctor  Bersonin." 

One  of  the  young  army  men  looked  at  her  curi- 
ously. "Do  you  know  him  ?"  he  asked. 

"Why,  of  course.  One  meets  him  everywhere. 
I  saw  him  at  a  dinner  last  week.  Have  you  met 
him?" 

"Oh,  yes,  we're  supposed  to  know  everybody," 
he  said  carelessly.  His  tone,  however,  held  some- 
thing which  made  her  say : 

"Most  men  don't  like  him,  I  find.  I  wonder 
why." 

"Why  don't  people  like  lizards?"  said  Patsy. 
188 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  CAPITAL 

"Because  they're  cold  and  clammy  and  wicked-look- 
ing." 

"They  like  them  enough  to  eat  them  in  Senagam- 
bia,"  said  the  young  officer  smiling.  "Bersonin  is  a 
great  man,  no  doubt,  but  there's  something  about 
him — I  met  a  man  once  who  had  run  across  him  in 
South  America  and — he  was  prejudiced.  Who's 
the  young  fellow  with  him,  Daunt?" 

"His  name  is  Ware — Philip  Ware/'  was  the  an- 
swer. "I  knew  him  at  college." 

Barbara  felt  the  blood  staining  her  cheeks.  So 
that  was  "Phil,"  the  brother  of  whom  Austen  Ware 
had  told  her!  The  name  called  up  thoughts  that 
had  obtruded  themselves  in  the  moment  she  saw  the 
white  yacht  lying  at  anchor,  and  which  since  then 
she  had  wilfully  thrust  from  her  mind.  Her  gaze 
studied  the  handsome,  youthful  form,  noting  the 
bold,  restless  glance,  the  dissipated  lines  of  the 
comely  face,  with  a  sudden  distaste.  A  twang  from 
the  orchestra  recalled  her,  as  the  curtain  was  looped 
back  for  the  Miyako  Odori,  the  "Dance  of  the  Capi- 
tal." 

It  was  Barbara's  introduction  to  a  native  orches- 
tra and  at  first  its  strummings  and  squealings,  its 
lack  of  modes  and  of  harmony,  its  odd  barbaric 
phrasing,  infected  her  with  a  mad  desire  to  laugh. 
But  gradually  there  came  to  her  the  hint  of  under- 
rhythm — as  when  she  had  listened  to  Haru's  sami- 
sen  in  the  garden — and  with  it  an  overpowering 

189 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

sense  of  suggestion.  It  was  the  remote  cry  of  occult 
passions,  a  twittering  of  ghostly  shadows,  the  wail- 
ing of  an  oriental  Sphynx  whom  Time  had  aban- 
doned to  the  eternal  desert.  It  had  in  it  melancholy 
and  the  enigma  of  the  ages.  It  wiped  away  the 
ugly  modern  European  buildings,  the  western  cos- 
tumes, the  gloze  of  borrowed  method,  and  left  Bar- 
bara looking  into  the  naked  heart  of  the  East,  old, 
intent,  and  full  of  mystical  meaning. 

The  ivory  plectrons  chirruped,  the  flutes  squeaked 
and  wailed,  the  little  hour-glass  drums  thudded,  and 
down  the  stage  swept  sixty  geisha,  in  blue,  cherry- 
painted  kimono.  A  sly,  thin  thread  of  scarlet  peeped 
from  their  woven  sleeves.  Their  small  tabi'd  feet, 
cleft  like  the  foot  of  a  faun,  moved  in  slow,  hov- 
ering steps.  When  they  wheeled,  swaying  like 
young  bamboo,  they  stamped  softly,  and  the  white 
foot,  raised  from  the  boards,  under  the  puffed  ki- 
mono edge  writhed  and  bent  from  the  ankle  like  a 
pliant  hand.  Their  faces,  heavily  powdered,  and 
held  without  expression,  looked  like  white,  waxen 
masks  in  which  lived  sparkling  black  eyes.  In  the 
slow,  languorous  movement  their  obi  of  gold  and 
fans  of  silver  caught  the  cherry-shaded  lights  and 
tossed  them  back  in  gleams  of  mother-of-pearl. 

Barbara  fell  to  watching  the  Japanese  spectators. 
All  around  her  they  stood  and  sat  at  ease,  drinking 
in  the  play  of  color  and  motion  of  which  they  never 
tire.  The  dance  had  no  passion,  no  sensuality, 

190 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  CAPITAL 

none  of  the  savagery  and  abandon  of  the  dances  of 
Southern  Asia,  with  whose  reproductions  the  west- 
ern stage  is  familiar.  Beside  a  ballet  of  the  West,  it 
would  have  seemed  almost  ascetic.  She  knew  that 
it  was  symbolic — that  every  posture  was  a  sentence 
of  a  story  they  knew,  as  old  and  as  sacred,  perhaps, 
as  the  birth  of  the  gods. 

The  parted  curtain  swung  together  and  Daunt 
seated  himself  at  Barbara's  side.  "Do  you  like  it, 
ever  so  little?"  he  asked. 

"Ever  so  much!" 

"I  wonder  if  you  are  going  to  like  me,  too,"  he 
said,  so  softly  that  no  one  else  heard. 

She  felt  her  color  coming  as  she  answered : 
"Why,  of  course.  How  could  I  help  it,  when  you 
plan  things  like  this  for  me  ?" 

"I  have  at  last  found  my  metier;  give  me  more 
things  to  do." 

"Very  well.  When  will  you  take  me  to  see  your 
Japanese  house?" 

For  a  second  Daunt  hesitated.  The  little  native 
house  in  the  Street-of-the-Misty- Valley  was  a  sen- 
timental place  to  him.  There  he  had  worked  out 
the  models  of  his  first  Glider ;  there  he  had  talked 
with  his  Princess  of  Dreams,  his  "Lady  of  the 
Many-Colored  Fires."  The  glimpse  of  Phil  had 
reminded  him  that  it  now  had  a  tenant.  When  he 
showed  it  to  Barbara,  it  should  not  be  with  Phil  in 
possession. 

IQI 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

She  noted  the  hesitation,  and,  somewhat  puzzled, 
and  wondering  if  to  oriental  ethics  the  suggestion 
was  a  gaucherie,  waved  the  matter  lightly  aside. 
"You  are  just  going  to  say  'one  of  these  days.' 
Please  don't.  When  I  was  little,  that  always  meant 
never.  I  withdraw  the  motion — but  what  is  this 
coming?" 

A  boy  was  ascending  the  platform.  He  bowed  and 
laid  a  box  of  thin  unpainted  wood  at  Daunt's  feet. 
It  contained  a  kakemono,  or  wall-painting,  rolled 
and  tied  with  a  red-and-white  cord  of  twisted  rice- 
paper.  Daunt  read  the  accompanying  card. 

"  'Miss  Happy-for-a-Thousand-Years,'  "  he  said, 
"  'presents  her  compliments  to  the  illustrious  stran- 
gers.' She  is  the  star.  The  gift  is  a  pretty  cus- 
tom, isn't  it,  even  if  it  is  advertisement.  Here  comes 
the  lady  herself  to  present  her  thanks  for  our  distin- 
guished patronage." 

She  bowed  low  before  them,  smiling,  her  small 
piquant  face  powdered  white  as  mistletoe-berries 
above  her  carmine-painted  lips.  Daunt  unrolled  the 
kakemono,  revealing  a  delicately-painted  cluster  of 
butterflies.  He  chatted  with  her  in  the  vernacular, 
and  she  replied  with  much  drawing-in  of  breath  and 
flute-like  laughter. 

"She  says,"  he  translated,  "that  this  is  a  picture 
of  her  honorable  ancestors."  A  little  smile,  a  genu- 
flection, a  breath  of  perfume  and  the  powdered  face 
and  gorgeous  kimono  were  gone.  The  orchestra 

192 


THE  DANCE  OF  THE  CAPITAL 

chirruped,  the  curtain  parted  and  another  figure  be- 
gan. 

Miss  Happy- for-a-Thousand- Years !  As  the  party 
walked  back  to  the  waiting  rich'sha,  Barbara  won- 
dered what  lay  beneath  that  smiling  surface.  She 
had  heard  of  the  strenuous  training  that  at  five  years 
began  to  teach  the  gauzy,  fragile,  child-butterfly  to 
paint  its  wings,  to  flirt  and  sing  and  dance  its  daz- 
zling moth-flame  way.  For  the  geisha  nothing  was 
too  gorgeous,  too  transcendent.  Her  lovers  might 
be  statesmen  and  princes.  But  in  return  she  must 
be  always  gay,  always  laughing,  always  young — all 
things  to  all  men — to  the  end  of  the  butterfly  chap- 
ter! Butterfly  hair,  butterfly  gown — and  butterfly 
heart  ? 

Barbara  wondered. 


193 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  DEVIL  PIPES  TO   HIS  OWN 

DOCTOR  Bersonin,  huge  and  white-flanneled, 
with  Phil  by  his  side,  strolled  away  through 
the  swarming  crowd. 

Not  a  word,  not  a  glance  of  the  younger  man 
that  evening,  had  escaped  him — he  had  been  study- 
ing him  with  all  the  minute  attention  of  that  great, 
overweening  brain  that,  from  an  origin  of  which  he 
never  spoke,  had  made  him  one  of  the  foremost  ex- 
perimenters in  Europe.  The  swift  gleam  in  Phil's 
eye  as  he  watched  the  geisha,  the  eager  drinking  in 
of  the  girlish  daintiness,  the  colors  and  perfumes  to 
which  he  stretched  himself  like  a  cat — the  watchful, 
impassive  eyes  took  note  of  everything.  All  Ber- 
sonin's  talk  had  held  an  evil  lure.  It  had  touched 
on  the  extravagant  and  sensual  vagaries  of  lux- 
ury, the  sybaritic  pleasures  of  the  social  gourmet, 
subjects  appealing  to  the  imagination  of  the  youth 
whom  he  was  examining  like  a  slide  under  the  mi- 
croscope. They  had  stopped  once  at  a  chaya  for 
tea,  but  Phil  had  called  for  the  hot  native  sake,  and 
as  its  musty,  sherry-like  fumes  crept  into  his  blood  he 
talked  with  increasing  recklessness.  Beneath  their 

194 


THE  DEVIL  PIPES  TO  HIS  OWN 

veiled  contemptuousness,  Bersonin' s  feline  eyes  be- 
gan to  harbor  a  stealthy  satisfaction.  He  had 
guessed  why  Phil  had  suggested  coming  to  Muko- 
jima.  The  latter's  restlessness,  his  anxious  sur- 
veillance of  the  passers-by,  might  have  enlightened 
a  less  observant  spectator. 

Phil's  new  passion  had,  in  fact,  a  strong  hold 
on  him.  That  long-ago  picture  of  Haru,  bare- 
footed in  the  surf,  frequent  recollection  had  stamped 
on  his  brain  and  the  sight  of  her  fresh  beauty  to- 
day had  fanned  the  coal  to  a  flame.  Those  stolen 
kisses  in  the  bamboo  lane  had  roused  a  lurking  devil 
that  counted  nothing  but  his  own  desires.  For  this 
hour,  while  the  sake  ran  in  his  pulses,  the  flame 
overshadowed  even  Bersonin. 

"Well,  my  boy,"  said  the  latter  at  length  quiz- 
zically, "when  you  find  her,  just  give  me  the  hint 
and  I'll  go." 

Phil  flushed,  then  laughed  shortly.  "So  you  are 
a  mind-reader,  too  ?"  he  said. 

"It's  written  all  over  you,"  said  Bersonin.  "Why 
didn't  you  tell  me?  We  could  have  postponed  our 
dinner  and  left  you  free  for  the  chase.  It  is  a  chase, 
eh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Phil.  "I— I  haven't  had  much  luck 
with  her  yet.  I  just  happened  to  know  she  was  to 
be  here  to-night.  She's  a  pretty  little  devil,"  he 
added,  "the  prettiest  I've  seen  in  Japan." 

"The  Japanese  type  is  the  rage  in  Paris  now," 
195 


,THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

said  the  other.  "Take  her  there,  dress  her  in  jewels, 
and  drive  her  through  the  Bois  some  afternoon  and 
you'll  be  the  most  talked-of  man  in  France  next 
morning." 

The  red  deepened  in  Phil's  cheek.  The  prospect 
drew  him.  He  looked  at  Bersonin.  Paris  and 
jewels ! 

He  drank  more  sake  at  the  next  tea-house.  It 
had  begun  to  show  in  a  shaking  of  the  hand,  a 
louder  voice.  Suddenly  Phil  sprang  to  his  feet. 
"There  she  is !"  he  exclaimed. 

Bersonin  looked.  "Lovely!"  he  said,  "I  con- 
gratulate you.  I'll  walk  back  to  the  motor-car — 
the  sights  amuse  me.  You  can  come  along  when 
you  please.  Dinner  will  wait.  And,  anyway,  what's 
dinner  to  a  pretty  woman?" 

Phil  plunged  into  the  crowd  and  the  expert  spoke 
quickly  to  the  servant,  who  was  staring  after  him. 
"Better  keep  him  in  sight,"  he  said.  "You  can  come 
when  he  does." 

Bersonin  was  sauntering  on,  when  a  turmoil  be- 
hind him  made  him  turn.  A  woman's  cry  and  an 
angry  oath  in  English  rang  out,  startlingly  clear 
above  the  low  murmur  of  the  multitude.  He  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  Japanese  form  leaping  like  a  tiger — of 
Phil  lying  in  the  dust  of  the  road — of  a  girl  vanish- 
ing swiftly  into  the  shadows. 

As  the  expert  hurried  forward,  Phil  stumbled  to 
his  feet.  Lights  were  dancing  before  his  eyes  and 

196 


THE  DEVIL  PIPES  TO  HIS  OWN 

his  neck  felt  as  if  he  had  been  garroted.  With  his 
first  breath  he  turned  on  Ishida,  incoherent  with 
rage  and  curses.  The  big  man  caught  his  arm. 

"The  honorable  sir  make  mistake,"  said  the  Jap- 
anese smoothly.  "Man  have  done  that  who  have 
ranned  away." 

"He  lies !"  said  Phil  fiercely.  "There  was  no  one 
else  near  me  but  the  girl.  He  did  it  himself !  He 
tried  to  ju- jits'  me!" 

The  fingers  of  the  Japanese  were  clenched,  but 
his  face  was  impassive  as  he  added:  "I  think  he 
have  been  snik-thief." 

"That's  no  doubt  the  way  it  was,  Phil,"  said  Ber- 
sonin.  "Why  on  earth  would  Ishida  touch  you? 
That's  an  old  thieves'  trick.  The  fellow  tried  to  get 
your  watch,  I  suppose.  But  we  must  move  on.  The 
police  will  be  here  presently,  and  we  don't  want  our 
names  in  the  papers." 

They  went  rapidly  through  the  close  ranks  that 
had  been  watching  with  the  decorous,  inquisitive 
silence  so  typically  oriental. 

"I  suppose  you're  right,"  said  Phil  sulkily.  "I — 
I  beg  your  pardon,  Ishida." 

The  Japanese  bowed  gravely. 

"Only  a  mistake,"  he  said,  "which  honorable  sir 
make." 


197 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

A  MAN  NAMED  WARE 

THE  three-storied  front  of  the  Cherry-Moon 
Tea-House,  when  Daunt's  party  arrived,  was 
glowing  with  tiers  of  large  round  lanterns 
of  oiled-paper  bearing  a  conventionalized  moon  and 
cherry-blossoms.  At  the  door  sat  rows  of  little  vel- 
vet-lined sandals.  Here  shoes  were  discarded,  and 
servants  drew  on  the  guests'  feet  loose  slippers  of 
cotton  cloth,  soft  and  yielding.  One  other  guest  was 
awaiting  the  party  at  the  entrance.  This  was  Captain 
Viscount  Sakai,  of  the  General  Staff,  spruce,  fine- 
featured  and  in  immaculate  European  evening  dress. 
He  had  a  clear,  olive  complexion,  and,  save  for  the 
narrow,  Japanese  eye,  might  have  been  a  Spaniard. 
The  small  second-story  shokudo  in  which  they 
dined  was  floored  in  soft  tataine  edged  with  black 
and  laid  in  close-fitting  geometrical  pattern.  Save 
for  a  plain  alcove  at  one  end,  holding  a  dwarf  pine 
and  a  single  nanten  branch  with  clusters  of  bright 
red  berries,  it  was  empty.  There  was  no  drapery. 
The  walls  were  sliding  screens  of  gold-leaf  on  which 
were  finely  drawn  etchings  of  pine-trees  covered 

198 


with  snow,  the  effect  suggested  rather  than  finished. 
It  was  brilliant  with  electric  light. 

Tiny  square  tables  of  black  lacquer  were  disposed 
along  three  sides  of  the  room,  one  for  each  guest. 
They  were  but  four  inches  high  and  on  the  floor  be- 
hind each  lay  a  thin,  flat  zabuton  or  cushion  of  bro- 
cade. The  bowing  geisha  in  wonderful  rainbow 
kimono  who  awaited  them  might  have  stepped  from 
the  temple  stage  at  Mukojima.  These  pointed  to  the 
tables  with  inviting  smiles : 

"Plee  shee  down !"  they  said  in  unison. 

"I  never  could  'shee  down'  gracefully  when  any 
one  is  looking!"  complained  Patricia,  as  she  tucked 
her  small  feet  under  her  on  the  kneeling-cushion. 

"Banzai!"  commented  Voynich,  setting  his  mono- 
cle. "You  have  practised  before  a  mirror!"  He 
collapsed  beside  her  with  a  groan.  "I  shall  be  re- 
incarnated an  accordion !" 

"Count,"  said  Patricia  plaintively,  "no  bouquets, 
please.  I  know  when  you  are  stringing  me." 

He  looked  blank  and  the  Japanese  officer  hastily 
produced  a  lavender  note-book  and  a  gold  pencil. 
"That  is  a  new  one,"  he  said.  "I  must — what  is  it  ? 
— ah  yes!  I  must  nail  it.  Excuse  me.  I  write  it 
in  my  swear-album." 

"The  Viscount  is  learning  American  slang,"  Pa- 
tricia informed  Barbara.  "One  of  these  days  you 
must  tell  him  some  of  the  very  latest." 

He  looked  across  with  gravely  twinkling  eyes.    "I 
199 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

shall  be — ah — tickle  to  die!''  he  said.  "It  is  my 
specialty.  Nex'  year  I  become  Professor  in  Slang 
Literature  at  the  Imperial  University." 

The  meal  began  merrily.  Barbara  sat  on  Daunt's 
left,  with  one  of  the  attaches  next  her.  Baroness 
Stroloff  was  on  Daunt's  other  hand.  Barbara  re- 
membered it  afterward  as  a  meal  of  elfish  daintiness 
— of  warm,  pungent,  wine-like  liquor  in  blue  porce- 
lain bottles,  of  food  of  strange  look  and  cloying 
taste,  highly  colored  and  seasoned,  in  a  hundred 
tiny  red  and  black  lacquer  dishes  that  carried  her 
back  to  her  doll-days,  with  covers  patterned  in  gold, 
served  by  prostrating  geisha  whose  kimono  were 
woven  with  violet  Fujis,  winged  dragons  and  mar- 
velous exotic  blossoms. 

Daunt  pointed  to  a  dish  which  had  just  been  set 
before  her.  "You  must  try  the  hasu-no-renkon"  he 
said.  "That's  cooked  lotos-root.  It's  nearly  as 
good  as  it  looks." 

"How  do  you  ever  remember  the  names !" 

"Oh,  it's  quite  easy  to  talk  Japanese,"  he  replied 
recklessly.  "There  are  only  fifty  syllables  in  the 
language,  and  any  way  you  string  them  together  it 
means  something  or  other.  It  doesn't  matter 
whether  it's  the  right  thing  or  not,  if  you  just  bow 
and  smile.  There  are  seventeen  ways  of  drawing 
in  your  breath  which  are  a  lot  more  important  than 
what  you  say !" 

2OQ 


"What  disgraceful  nonsense!  What  is  that  pink 
thing?" 

"Raw  bonito.  The  refuge  of  dyspeptics.  Voy- 
nich,  over  there,  eats  nothing  else  at  home,  they  say. 
The  variegated  compound  is  kuchitori.  It's  made  of 
sugared  chestnuts,  leeks  and  pickled  fish.  May  1 
compliment  you  on  the  way  you  handle  your  chop- 
sticks? At  my  first  Japanese  dinner  I  bit  one  in 
two.  Isn't  Baroness  Stroloff  stunning,  by  the  way !" 

The  latter  was  deep  in  discussion  with  Patricia, 
moving  her  hands  in  quick,  vivacious  gestures  which 
clusters  of  opals  made  into  flashes  of  blue  fire. 
"But  you  must  send  to  Hakodate  for  your  furs,"  she 
was  saying.  "I  will  give  you  the  address  of  my  man 
there.  You  should  get  them  now,  not  wait  till  fall, 
when  the  tourists  have  bought  all  the  best." 

"I'm  dying  for  an  ermine  stole." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  not  ermine !  Get  sables.  One  can 
be  so  insulting  in  sables !" 

Barbara  laughed  with  the  rest.  "What  a  nice  lot 
you  are,"  she  said,  "all  knowing  each  other,  all 
friendly.  I  thought  diplomatists  were  always  por- 
ing over  international  law  books  and  drawing  up 
musty  treaties." 

"It's  not  all  cakes  and  ale,"  he  asserted.  "I 
worked  till  three  this  morning  on  a  cipher  telegram." 

"After  the  melodrama?" 

"Ah,  it  was  opera!"  he  protested.  "It  has  left 
201 


THE  KINGDOM  OF.  SLENDER  SWORDS 

me  memories  of  only  flowers,  and  scents  and  mu- 
sic!" 

"You  made  most  of  the  music,  if  I  remember 
rightly." 

"How  unkind!  I  could  no  more  help  it  than 
fly." 

"On  your  Glider?" 

He  laughed  again.  "Don't  forget  what  is  to  hap- 
pen one  day  with  that  same  machine." 

"What  is  that?" 

"I  am  to  swoop  down  and  carry  you  off.  It  was 
your  own  suggestion,  you  know." 

"But  it  was  to  be  at  the  Imperial  Review.  That 
doesn't  happen  again  for  a  year." 

"I  won't  wait  that  long!" 

She  turned  her  head;  her  eyes  sparkled  in  the 
caught  light.  Her  fingers  were  fluttering  a  square 
of  red  paper  that  had  been  rolled  about  her  chop- 
sticks. On  it  was  a  line  of  tiny  characters.  "What 
is  that  writing?" 

"That  is  a  love-poem,"  he  answered.  "You  know 
a  Japanese  poem  has  only  thirty-one  syllables.  You 
find  them  everywhere  and  on  everything,  from  a 
screen  to  a  fire-shovel.  I've  seen  them  printed  on 
tooth-picks.  Your  huckster  composes  them  as  he 
brings  the  fish  from  market,  and  your  amah  writes 
them  at  night  by  a  firefly  lantern." 

"Can  you  read  it?" 

He  translated:  "I  thought  my  love's  long  hair 
202 


A  MAN  NAMED  WARE 

drooped  down  from  the  gate  of  the  sky.    But  it  was 

only  the  shadow  of  evening." 

"How  delicately  pretty!"  she  exclaimed.     "It's 

written  in  kana,  the  sound-alphabet,  isn't  it?" 
"Yes.    How  much  you  have  learned  already!" 
"Haru  has  begun  teaching  me.     Let  me  show 

you  my  proficiency."  She  took  his  pencil  and  wrote  : 


"There!  who  would  guess  that  was  Japanese  for 
'Daunt.'  And  what  an  impression  you  must  have 
made  on  Haru  for  her  to  select  your  name  as  my 
first  lesson!'* 

Across  the  soft  shoo-shoo  of  spotless,  tabi-dzd 
feet,  the  flitting  of  bright-hued  kimono,  the  gay 
badinage  that  flew  about  the  low  tables,  Daunt  felt 
her  beauty  thrill  him  from  head  to  foot  like  a  gar- 
ment of  mist  and  fire.  As  she  dropped  her  hand  to 
the  cushion  it  had  touched  his,  and  for  an  instant 
their  pulses  had  seemed  to  throb  into  one.  The 
tiny,  lacquered  cup  she  took  up  trembled  in  her 
fingers. 

She  started  when  the  young  army  officer  nearest 
her  said:  "Speaking  of  sailing,  give  me  a  steam- 
yacht  like  the  one  that  berthed  yesterday  at  Yoko- 
hama. She  belongs  to  a  man  named  Ware  —  Austen 
Ware  —  a  New  Yorker,  I  understand.  Perhaps  you 
know  him,  Miss  Fairfax." 

203 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"I  have  met  him,"  she  answered. 

The  young  army  officer  looked  up  quickly — he 
was  an  enthusiastic  yachtsman.  "A  beautiful  ves- 
sel!" he  said.  "I  noticed  her  to-day,  but  she  was 
too  far  away  to  make  out  her  name/' 

"It  is  the  Barbara''  said  Voynich. 

"Why—"  exclaimed  Patricia,  "that's  — "  She 
bit  her  tongue,  caught  by  something  in  Barbara's 
face.  "Good  gracious!"  she  ended.  "My — my 
foot's  asleep !" 

Barbara  had  felt  her  flush  fading  to  paleness.  She 
felt  a  quick  relief  that  none  there,  save  Patricia  and 
Daunt,  knew  her  first  name.  In  the  diversion  caused 
by  Patricia's  helpless  efforts  to  stand  up,  she  stole 
a  glance  at  Daunt. 

A  shadow  had  fallen  on  his  face.  He  did  not  look 
at  her,  but  in  his  brain  the  yacht's  name  was  ring- 
ing like  a  knell.  She  knew  Phil's  brother !  Austen 
Ware's  yacht  had  arrived  in  Yokohama  on  the  same 
day  as  her  ship.  And  it  was  named  the  Barbara. 
Yet  to-night  he  had  dreamed — what  had  he  been 
dreaming?  These  thoughts  mixed  themselves 
weirdly  with  the  gaiety  and  nonsense  that  he  forced 
himself  to  render. 

Barbara  felt  this  with  an  aching  sense  of  resent- 
ment. What  was  he  thinking  of  her?  And  why 
should  she  care  so  fiercely?  The  courses  passed, 
but  the  lightness  and  blitheness  of  the  scene  were 
somehow  chilled.  The  decorative  food:  the  num- 

204 


berless,  tiny  cups  and  trays;  the  taper,  pink-tinted 
ringers  that  poured  the  warm  drink;  the  kimono,  the 
music  and  lights, — all  palled. 

She  was  glad  when  the  Baroness  decreed  the  din- 
ner over  by  repeating  Patricia's  experiment  of  pain- 
ful unfolding,  and  calling  for  her  wraps. 


205 


CHAPTER  XXV 

AT   THE   SHRINE   OF   THE    FOX-GOD 

THE  street  into  which  they  trooped  seemed 
an  oriental  opera-bouffe :  swaying,  chatting 
people  in  loose,  light-colored  kimono,  some 
carrying  crested  paper  lanterns  tied  to  the  ends  of 
short  rods :  a  thousand  lights  and  hues  flashing  and 
weaving.    But  for  two  of  the  party  the  colors  had 
lost  their  warmth  and  the  movement  its  fascination. 
"I  simply  can't  coop  up  yet  in  a  rich'sha!"  pleaded 
Patricia,    as    they    donned    their    discarded    shoes. 
"Why  not  walk  a  little  ?"     The  proposal  met  with 
a  chorus  of  approval.     They  set  out  together,  and 
presently  Barbara  found  Daunt  beside  her.     Her 
resentment  did  not  cool  as  she  laughed  and  talked 
mechanically,  acutely  aware  that  he  was  answering 
in  monosyllables  or  with  silence. 

Daunt  was  crying  out  upon  himself  for  a  fool. 
What  right  had  he  to  feel  that  hot  sting  in  his 
heart?  Yesterday  morning  he  had  not  known  that 
she  existed.  If  an  hour  ago  the  skies  had  been 
golden-sprinkled  azure,  and  Tokyo  the  capital  of 
an  Empire  of  Romance,  it  was  only  because  he  was 

206 


AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  FOX-GOD 

a  boyish,  silly  dolt,  sick  with  vanity  and  compla- 
cency. What  had  there  been  between  them,  after  all, 
save  a  light  camaraderie  into  which  a  man  was  an 
insufferable  cad  to  read  more  ?  So  he  paced  on,  ach- 
ingly  cognizant  of  the  lapses  in  his  conversation, 
quite  unconscious  that  her  own  was  growing  more 
forced  and  strained. 

They  were  in  the  midst  of  a  densely  packed  crowd 
where  a  native  theater  was  pouring  its  audience  into 
the  street.  They  had  fallen  behind  the  rest,  and 
there  were  about  them  only  kimono' d  shoulders 
and  flowered,  blue-black  head-dresses.  He  made  a 
way  for  her  ruggedly  toward  a  paling  where  there 
was  a  little  space.  Above  it  was  hung  a  poster  of  a 
Japanese  actress. 

"That  is  the  famous  Sada  Gozen,"  he  told  her. 
"She  has  just  returned  from  a  season  in  Paris  and 
New  York,  and  Tokyo  is  quite  wild  about  her." 

As  he  spoke  numbers  thrust  him  against  her  and 
the  touch  brought  instantly  to  him  that  moment  in 
the  garden  when  he  had  held  her  in  his  arms  to  lift 
her  to  the  arbor  ledge.  The  picture  of  her  that 
evening  in  the  pagoda  was  stamped  on  his  heart: 
the  sweet,  moon-lighted  profile,  the  curling,  brown 
hair,  the  faint  perfume  of  her  gown  that  mingled 
with  the  wistaria.  It  came  before  him  there  in  the 
bustle  and  press  with  a  sudden  swift  sadness.  He 
knew  that  it  would  be  always  with  him  to  remember. 

A  Japanese  couple,  hastening  to  their  rick'sha, 
207 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

caromed  against  them,  and,  with  an  effort,  he  tried 
to  turn  it  to  a  smile : 

"Some  say  it's  difficult  for  a  foreigner  to  come 
into  intimate  contact  with  the  Japanese,"  he  said. 
"You  have  already  pierced  that  illusion.  One  is 
always  finding  out  that  he  has  been  mistaken  in 
people." 

Her  quivering  feeling  grasped  at  a  fancied  in- 
nuendo. "It  doesn't  take  long,  then,  you  think?" 
Her  tone  held  a  dangerous  lure,  but  he  did  not  per- 
ceive it. 

"Not  where  you  are  concerned,  apparently,"  he 
answered  lightly. 

She  turned  her  head  swiftly  toward  him,  and  her 
eyes  flashed.  "Where  7  am  concerned!"  she  re- 
peated fiercely,  and  in  his  astonishment  he  almost 
wrecked  the  paling.  "Oh,  I  hate  double-meaning! 
Why  not  say  it?  Do  you  suppose  I  don't  know 
what  you  are  thinking?" 

"I?"  he  said  in  bewilderment.  "What  /  am 
thinking?" 

"You  mean  you  have  found  you  are  mistaken  in 
me!  You  have  no  right — no  earthly  right,  to  draw 
conclusions." 

"Ah!"  he  said,  with  a  sharp  breath.  "I  had  no 
such  meaning.  You  can't  imagine — " 

"Don't  say  you  didn't,"  she  interrupted.  "That 
only  makes  it  worse !"  She  scarcely  understood  her 
own  resentment,  and  a  hot  consciousness  that  her 

208 


AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  FOX-GOD 

behavior  was  quite  childish  and  unreasonable  mixed 
itself  with  her  anger. 

"What  have  I  said?"  he  exclaimed,  in  contrition 
and  distress.  "I  wouldn't  hurt  you  for  a  million 
worlds!  Whatever  it  was,  I  ought  to  do  hara-kiri 
for  it!  I — I  will  perform  the  operation  whenever 
you  say !" 

A  ridiculous  desire  to  cry  had  seized  her — why, 
she  could  not  have  told — and  she  would  rather  have 
died  than  have  him  see  her  do  so.  "If  you  will  go 
ahead,"  she  said  tremulously,  "and  make  a  path  for 
me,  I  think  we  can  get  through  now." 

He  turned  instantly  and  his  broad  shoulders  part- 
ed the  crowd  in  a  haste  that  was  thoroughly  un- 
Japanese.  But  she  did  not  follow  him.  Instead, 
she  drew  back,  and  thinking  only  to  hide  momen- 
tarily her  hurt  and  her  pride,  slipped  through  a 
narrow  gateway. 

She  found  herself  in  a  crowded  corridor  of  the 
emptying  playhouse.  The  mass  of  Japanese  faces 
confused  her.  A  door  opened  at  another  angle  and 
she  passed  through  it  hastily  into  the  open  air.  The 
street  she  was  now  in  was  narrow,  and  she  followed 
it,  expecting  it  to  turn  into  the  larger  thoroughfare. 
It  did  so  presently,  and  at  its  corner  she  paused  till 
the  burning  had  left  her  eyes,  and  her  breath  came 
evenly.  Then  she  walked  back  toward  the  theater, 
feeling  an  impatient  irritation  at  her  behavior. 

Presently,  however,  she  stopped,  puzzled.  The 
209 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

theater  was  not  there.  The  street,  too,  had  not  the 
character  of  the  one  in  which  she  had  left  Daunt. 
She  must  have  taken  the  wrong  turn.  She  walked 
rapidly  in  the  opposite  direction,  until  another  street 
crossed  at  right  angles.  This  she  tried  with  no  better 
result.  In  the  maze  of  lantern-lighted  vistas,  she 
was  completely  lost. 

She  was  not  frightened,  for  she  was  aware  that, 
so  far  as  physical  harm  was  concerned,  Tokyo,  of 
all  great  cities  of  the  world,  was  perhaps  the  safest 
and  most  orderly.  She  knew  that  "Bei-koku  Taisti- 
kan"  meant  "American  Embassy."  She  had  mas- 
tered the  phrase  that  morning,  and  had  only  to  step 
into  a  rick'sha  and  use  it.  Daunt,  however,  did  not 
know  this.  Aware  that  she  had  been  behind  him, 
he  would  not  go  on,  and  she  contritely  pictured  him 
anxiously  searching  the  crowds  for  her.  The 
thought  overrode  her  anger  and  humiliation.  She 
would  not  take  the  rick'sha  till  she  despaired  of 
finding  him. 

Just  before  her,  at  the  side  of  the  way,  stood  a 
small  temple  with  a  recumbent  stone  fox  at  its 
entrance.  It  made  her  think  suddenly  of  the  riding- 
crop  she  had  seen  Daunt  carrying,  with  its  Damas- 
cene fox-head  handle.  In  the  doorway  burned  a  rack 
of  little  candles,  and  a  chest,  barred  across  the  top, 
sat  ready  to  receive  the  offerings  of  worshipers. 
Above  this  was  suspended  the  mirror  which  is  the 
invariable  badge  of  a  Shinto  shrine.  It  was  tilted  at 

210 


AT  THE  SHRINE  OF  THE  FOX-GOD 

an  angle  and  tossed  back  the  glimmer  of  the  candle- 
flame.  With  a  whimsical  smile  she  took  a  copper 
coin  from  her  purse  and  leaned  to  toss  it  into  the 
chest. 

But  her  fingers  closed  on  it  and  she  drew  back 
hastily,  with  a  quick  memory  of  one  of  the  tales 
Haru  had  told  her  in  the  garden.  She  knew  sud- 
denly that  she  stood  before  a  temple  of  Inari,  the 
Fox-God,  patron  deity  of  her  whose  conquests 
brought  shame  to  households  and  dishonor  to  wives. 
She  remembered  a  song  the  Japanese  girl  had  sung 
to  the  tinkle  of  her  samisen : 

"My  weapons  are  a  smile  and  a  little  fan — 
Sayonara,  Sayonara     .      .      ." 

It  was  the  song  of  the  "Fox-Woman."  She 
slipped  the  purse  hastily  back  into  her  pocket. 

The  Fox- Woman!  As  she  walked  on,  for  the 
first  time  the  phrase  came  to  Barbara  with  a  sudden, 
sharp  sense  of  actuality.  There  were  fox-women 
of  every  race  and  clime,  women  who  came,  with 
painted  smile,  between  true  lovers!  What  if  she 
herself — what  if  here,  in  this  land,  that  baleful  wis- 
dom were  to  strike  home  to  her?  Like  a  keen  blade 
the  thought  pierced  through  her,  and  something  shy 
and  sweet,  newborn  in  her  breast,  shrank  startled 
and  fearful  from  it. 

The  street  had  narrowed  curiously.  It  was  paved 
211 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

now  from  side  to  side  with  flat  stone  flags.  She 
realized  all  at  once  that  there  were  no  longer  rick'- 
sha  to  be  seen,  only  people  afoot.  A  blaze  of  light 
caught  her  eye,  and  she  looked  up  to  see,  spanning 
the  street,  an  arched  gateway,  at  either  side  of  which 
stood  a  policeman,  quiet  and  imperturbable.  Its 
curved  top  was  decorated  with  colored  electric  bulbs, 
and  from  its  keystone  towered  a  great  image  molded 
in  white  plaster — the  figure  of  a  woman  in  ancient 
Japanese  costume.  One  hand  held  a  fan;  the  other 
lifted  high  above  her  head  a  circular  globe  of  light. 
A  huge  weeping-willow  drooped  over  one  side  of 
the  archway,  through  which  came  glimpses  of  mov- 
ing colors,  crowds,  hanging  lanterns  and  elfish 
music. 

Barbara  hesitated.  To  what  did  that  white,  fe- 
male figure  beckon  ?  She  looked  behind  her — direc- 
tion now  meant  nothing.  Perhaps  she  had  wan- 
dered in  a  circle  and  the  theater  lay  beyond. 

She  stepped  through  the  gate. 


212 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  NIGHTLESS  CITY 

STRAIGHT  before  her  lay  a  wide  pavement, 
humming  with  voices,  lined  with  three-story 
houses  that  glowed  with  iron-hooped  lanterns 
of  red,  yellow  and  green,  and  tinkled  with  the  music 
of  samisen.  From  their  gaily  lighted  shoji  swathes 
of  warm,  yellow  light  fell  on  the  kimono'd  figures 
of  men  strolling  slowly  up  and  down.  A  little  way 
off  rose  a  square  tower,  with  a  white  clock-face, 
illumined  by  a  circle  of  electric  bulbs.  Narrower 
streets,  also  innocent  of  roadway,  crossed  at  right 
angles  and  at  mathematical  intervals.  They  were 
starry  with  lamps  that  hung  in  long  projecting  bal- 
conies oramented  with  grill  and  carved  work.  From 
these  came  the  shrieking  sounds  of  music  and  an 
indescribable  atmosphere  of  frivolity,  of  obvious 
dedication  to  some  flippant  cult. 

In  and  out  of  these  side  streets  flowed  a  multitude 
of  boys  and  men,  in  unbelted  summer  robes  of  light 
colors,  lazily  vivacious,  moving  on  naked,  clogged 
feet,  making  the  air  a  bluish  haze  of  cigarette  smoke. 
In  the  blazing  dusk  they  suggested  the  populace  of 
some  crowded  Spa  strolling  to  the  pools  in  flowing 

213 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

bath-robes  and  straw  hats.  On  some  of  the  far  bal- 
conies Barbara  could  see  women  leaning,  in  ornate 
costumes,  smoking  tiny  pipes.  Here  and  there  girls 
strolled  past  her,  for  the  most  part  in  couples,  gaud- 
ily clad,  their  cheeks  white  with  rice-powder,  their 
lips  carmined,  their  blue-black  hair  wonderfully 
coaxed  and  pomaded  into  shining  wings  and  whorls, 
thrust  through  with  many  jeweled  hair-pins,  like 
slim  daggers.  They  jested  freely  with  the  men  they 
passed,  laughing  continually  with  low  voices.  In  a 
doorway  a  slim  girl,  dressed  in  deep  red,  gleefully 
tickled  with  one  bare  foot  the  hide  of  a  shaggy 
poodle  vainly  essaying  slumber.  As  she  went  on, 
the  crowd  became  more  numerous;  men's  kimono 
brushed  Barbara's  skirts  and  eyes  stared  at  her  with 
contemplative  boldness. 

"Madame!" 

She  felt  a  hand  pluck  her  sleeve.  It  was  a  j'oung 
Japanese,  in  foreign  dress,  with  a  shining  brown 
derby,  shining  aureated  teeth,  and  shining  silver- 
handled  cane.  "Madame  wishes  a  guide?*'  he  in- 
quired. She  recollected  him  instantly  as  the  youth 
who  had  slipped  into  her  hand  the  printed  card  when 
she  had  landed  from  the  ship  at  Yokohama.  She  did 
not  know  the  name  of  the  theater  she  had  left,  how- 
ever, so  shook  her  head  and  hurried  on. 

Without  warning  she  emerged  into  the  nun-like 
quiet  of  a  park  with  an  acre  of  growing  trees  and 
an  irregular  little  lake  that  lay  dark  and  still  under 

214 


THE  NIGHTLESS  CITY 

the  moon.  Beside  it  was  a  stretch  of  hard,  beaten 
earth,  seemingly  a  playground.  Benches  were  set 
under  the  trees,  and  among  them  moved  or  sat  other 
girls  in  costumes  like  those  she  had  seen  on  the 
pavement.  At  sight  of  Barbara's  foreign  dress 
some  of  them  giggled  with  amusement  and  called  to 
one  another  in  repressed,  laughing  voices.  A  bell 
struck  somewhere,  and,  as  though  this  had  been  a 
signal,  they  all  rose  and  departed,  passing  out  by  the 
way  Barbara  had  come. 

She  traversed  the  park — to  come  face  to  face  with 
a  high  palisade.  She  took  a  new  direction,  only  to 
come  again  on  the  same  barrier.  The  park  seemed 
only  a  part  of  a  vast  inclosure  into  which  she  had 
penetrated.  Had  this  no  outlet  save  the  gate  at 
which  she  had  entered?  Wondering,  she  retraced 
her  steps  to  the  lighted  pavement.  She  was  puzzled 
now,  and  turned  into  one  of  the  cross  streets.  Its 
blaze  of  light,  its  movement  and  murmur  of  hu- 
manity bewildered  her  for  a  moment ;  then  what  she 
saw  instantly  arrested  her. 

The  lower  stories  of  most  of  the  abutting  build- 
ings had  for  fronts  only  lattices  of  vertical  wooden 
bars,  set  a  few  inches  apart.  Inside  these  bars, 
which  made  strange,  human  bird-cages,  seated  on 
mats  of  brocade,  or  flitting  here  and  there,  were  gal- 
axies of  Japanese  girls,  marvelously  habited  in  cha- 
meleon colors — even  more  brilliant  than  the  geisha 
she  had  seen  at  Mukojima — like  branches  of  irides- 

215 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

cent  humming-birds  or  banks  of  pulsing  butterflies. 
Here  and  there,  a  foil  to  the  fluttering  cages, 
stretched  a  silent  arcade  brilliantly  lighted  and  hung 
with  women's  photographs.  Above  each  was  fixed  a 
placard  with  a  name  in  Japanese  characters. 

What  was  this  place  into  which  she  had  strayed  ? 
She  had  heard  of  the  famous  "Street-of-the-Gm/w/' 
v/here  the  dancers  live.  Had  she  stumbled  on 
this  in  the  throes  of  some  festival  ?  Why  were  there 
no  women  on  the  pavements?  She  had  seen  none 
save  those  in  the  gaudy  robes  whom  the  bell  had 
called  away.  What  was  the  meaning  of  the  high 
palisades? — the  narrow  gate  with  its  stolid  police- 
men?— the  barred  house  fronts? 

Projecting  on  to  the  pavement,  at  the  side  of  each 
building,  was  a  small,  windowed  kiosk  like  the  box- 
office  of  a  theater.  In  the  one  nearest  Barbara  a 
man  was  sitting.  His  arm  was  thrust  through  the 
window,  and  his  hand,  holding  a  half-opened  fan, 
tapped  carelessly  on  its  side  while  he  chanted  in  a 
coaxing  voice.  Inside  a  man  with  close-cropped 
gray  hair  strode  along  the  seated  rows,  striking 
sharply  together  flint  and  steel,  till  a  shower  of 
gleaming  sparks  fell  on  each  head-dress.  This  done, 
he  emerged  and  paced  three  times  up  and  down  the 
pavement,  making  squeaking  noises  with  his  lips, 
and  describing  with  his  hands  strange  passes  in  the 
air.  These  reminded  Barbara  irresistibly  of  a  child's 
cryptic  gestures  for  luck.  He  then  struck  the  flat  of 

216 


THE  NIGHTLESS  CITY 

his  hand  six  times  smartly  against  the  door-post 
and  retired.  She  noticed  that  he  paused  at  the  en- 
trance to  snuff  the  row  of  candles  that  burned  in  a 
shrine  beside  it. 

The  whole  street,  with  its  rows  of  gilded  cages 
was  a  gleaming  vista  of  tableaux-vivants,  drenched 
in  prismatic  hues.  Each,  Barbara  noted,  had  its 
uniform  scheme  of  costume:  one  showed  the  sweep- 
ing lines  and  deep,  flowing  sleeves  of  the  pre-Meiji 
era;  another  the  high,  garnet  skirt  of  the  modern 
school-girl ;  in  one  the  kimono  were  of  rich  mauve, 
shading  at  the  bottom  to  pale  pink  set  with  languor- 
ous red  peonies;  in  another,  of  gray  crepe  figured 
with  craggy  pine-trees;  in  a  third,  of  scarlet  and 
blue,  woven  with  gold  thread  and  embroidered  in 
peacock  feathers.  Before  each  inmate's  cushion  sat 
a  tiny  brass  hibachi,  or  fire-bowl,  in  whose  ashes 
glowed  a  live  coal  for  the  lighting  of  pipes  and 
cigarettes,  and  a  miniature  toilet-table,  like  a  doll's- 
cabinet,  topped  by  a  small,  round  mirror.  From 
tiny  compartments  now  and  then  one  would  draw  a 
little  box  of  rouge,  a  powder-puff  of  down,  or  an 
ivory  spicula,  with  which,  in  complete  indifference 
to  observation,  she  would  heighten  the  vivid  red  of  a 
lip,  or  smooth  a  refractory  hair.  The  background 
against  which  they  posed  was  of  heavy  and  ex- 
quisitely intricate  gold-lacquer  carvings  of  stork, 
dragon  and  phoenix,  of  cunningly  disposed  mirrors, 
or  of  draped  crimson  and  silver  weaves.  Before  the 

217 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

bars  men  paused  to  chat  a  moment  and  pass  on :  be- 
hind them  the  gorgeous  robes  and  tinted  faces  flitted 
hither  and  thither  with  a  magpie  chatter,  with 
glimpses  of  ringed  fingers  clutching  the  lattice,  and 
of  naked  feet,  slim  and  brown  against  the  flooring. 

Barbara  watched  curiously.  She  was  no  longer 
conscious  that  passing  men  studied  her  furtively — 
that  here  and  there,  through  the  slender  bars,  a 
delicate  hand  waved  daringly  to  her.  In  all  the 
fairy-like  gorgeousness  she  felt  a  subtle  sense  of 
repugnance  that  kept  her  feet  in  the  middle  of  the 
pavement.  She  noted  now  that,  however  the  cos- 
tumes varied,  they  agreed  in  one  particular :  the  obi 
of  each  inmate  was  tied,  not  at  the  back,  but  in 
front.  It  seemed  a  kind  of  badge.  Somewhere  she 
had  read  what  it  stood  for.  What  was  it? 

A  group  of  men  passed  her  at  the  moment — for- 
eigners, speaking  an  unfamiliar  tongue.  They 
talked  loudly  and  pointed  with  their  sticks.  One  of 
them  observed  her,  and  turning,  said  something  to 
his  companions.  They  looked  back.  One  of  them 
laughed  coarsely. 

At  the  sound,  which  echoed  a  patent  vulgarity  in 
the  allusion,  the  blood  flew  to  her  cheeks.  The  tone 
had  told  her  in  a  flash  what  the  palisades,  the  barred 
inclosures,  the  gaudy  finery  and  reversed  obi  had 
failed  to  suggest.  A  veil  was  wound  about  her  hat 
and  with  nervous  haste  she  drew  down  its  folds  over 
her  face,  feeling  suddenly  sick  and  hot.  Driven  now 

218 


THE  NIGHTLESS  CITY 

by  an  overpowering  desire  to  find  her  way  out,  she 
doubled  desperately  back  to  the  wider  street. 

"Madame!" 

She  turned,  with  relief  this  time,  to  see  "Mr.  Y. 
Nakajima,"  the  guide,  of  the  gold  fillings  and  sil- 
ver-topped cane. 

"You  are  lost,"  he  said.  "Come  with  me,  and  I 
will  find  you." 

She  bade  him  take  her  to  the  gate  as  quickly  as 
possible  and  followed  him  rapidly,  stung  with  an 
acute  longing  for  the  noisy  roadway  with  its  careen- 
ing rick'sha.  He  was  a  thin,  humorous-looking 
youth  with  a  chocolate  skin  and  long  almond  eyes, 
from  which  he  shot  at  Barbara  glances  half  obsequi- 
ous, half  impertinent  and  preternaturally  sly,  from 
time  to  time  making  some  remark  which  she  an- 
swered as  shortly  as  she  might. 

By  the  arch  with  its  lofty  female  figure,  under  the 
weeping  willow,  Barbara  turned  for  an  instant  and 
looked  back.  The  street  seemed  to  her  a  maze  of 
reeling  lights — a  blur  of  painted  lips  and  drowsing 
eyes  and  ghostly  sobbing  of  the  samisen.  Just  out- 
side the  gate  a  pilgrim-priest,  his  coffin-like  shrine 
strapped  on  his  back,  was  mumbling  a  prayer. 

The  guide  spoke  complacently:  "Japan  Yoshi- 
wara  are  very  famed,"  he  said.  "I  think  other  coun- 
tries is  very  seldom  to  have  got." 

"Where  do  they  all  come  from?"  Barbara  asked 
suddenly.  "How  do  they  come  to  be  here  ?" 

219 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"From  many  village,"  he  answered.  He  had 
raised  his  voice,  for  several  passers-by  had  paused 
to  listen  inquisitively  to  the  strange  sounds,  so  un- 
couthly  unlike  their  own  liquid  syllabary;  and  he 
loved  to  display  his  English.  "A  man  have  a  shop. 
Business  become  bad ;  he  owe  so  plenty  money.  He 
can  not  pay,  but  he  have  pretty  daughter.  Here  they 
offer  maybe  two,  three  hundred  yen,  for  one  year. 
So  she  dutifully  pay  honorable  father  debt." 

Barbara  turned  away.  Again  she  felt  the  edge  of 
mystery,  bred  of  the  unguessable  divergence  between 
the  moral  Shibboleths  of  West  and  East.  It  caught 
at  her  like  the  cool  touch  of  dread  that  chills  the 
strayer  in  haunted  places.  In  a  hundred  ways  this 
land  drew  her  with  an  extraordinary  attraction ;  now 
a  feeling  of  baffled  perplexity  and  pain  mingled  with 
the  fascination.  It  was  almost  a  sort  of  terror.  If 
in  two  days  Japan  offered  such  passionate  variety, 
such  undreamed  contrasts  and  subtleties,  what 
would  it  eventually  show  to  her?  Could  she  ever 
really  know  it,  understand  it? 

"There  is  a  theater  near  here  where  Sada  Gozen 
is  playing,"  she  said.  "Can  you  take  me  there?" 

He  nodded.  "The  Raimon-za — the  Play-House- 
of-the-Gate-of-Thunder.  It  is  more  five  minutes  of 
distant." 

He  conducted  her  through  a  maze  of  narrow 
streets  and  pointed  to  the  building,  which  she  saw 
with  a  breath  of  relief.  Taking  out  her  purse  she 

220 


THE  NIGHTLESS  CITY 

put  a  bill  into  his  hand.  "Thank  you,"  she  said, 
"and  good  night." 

"I  shall  go  with  Madame  at  her  hotel." 

She  shook  her  head.    "I  can  find  my  way  now." 

"But  Madame—" 

"No,"  she  said  decidedly. 

He  stood  a  moment  swinging  his  cane,  looking 
after  her  with  impudent  almond  eyes.  Then  he 
lighted  a  cigarette,  settled  his  derby  at  a  jaunty  an- 
gle and  sauntered  back  toward  the  Yoshiwara. 

Barbara  came  on  Daunt  in  the  middle  of  the 
block.  He  had  stationed  himself  in  the  roadway, 
towering  head  and  shoulders  above  the  lesser  stature 
of  the  native  crowds.  With  him  was  a  Japanese  boy 
who,  she  noted  with  surprise,  was  Ito,  one  of  the 
house-servants.  Her  heart  jumped  as  she  saw  the 
relief  spring  to  Daunt' s  anxious  face. 

"Mea  culpa!"  she  cried,  and  with  an  impulsive 
gesture  reached  out  her  hand  to  him.  "What  a  trou- 
ble I  have  been  to  you!  I  was  actually  lost.  Isn't 
it  absurd  ?" 

Her  slim,  white  fingers  lay  a  moment  in  his.  All 
his  heart  had  leaped  to  meet  them.  In  the  moment 
of  her  anger  he  had  not  read  its  meaning,  but  since 
then  it  had  been  given  him  partly  to  understand. 
His  thoughtless  words — blunderer  that  he  was! — 
had  seemed  to  carp  at  her  like  a  whining  school-boy, 
with  cheap,  left-handed  satire!  Yet  to  his  memory 

221 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

even  her  hot,  indignant  voice  had  been  ringingly 
sweet,  for  the  stars  again  were  golden,  and  Tokyo 
once  more  fairy-land. 

"What  will  the  others  say!"  she  said.  "They  will 
have  missed  us  long  ago." 

"We  will  take  extra  push-men,"  he  said,  "and 
easily  overtake  them.  We  can  get  rick'sha  at  the 
next  stand." 

"What  did  you  think,"  she  asked,  as  they  rounded 
the  corner,  "when  you  found  I  had  vanished  into 
thin  air?" 

"I  imagined  for  a  while  you  were  punishing  me. 
Then  I  guessed  you  had  somehow  turned  into  the 
side  street.  But  I  felt  that  you  would  find  your  way 
back,  so — I  waited." 

"Thank  you,"  she  said  softly.  "I  have  not  acted 
so  badly  since  I  was  a  child.  Are  you  going  to 
shrive  me?" 

"I  am  the  one  to  ask  that  of  you,"  he  replied. 

"No — no !  It  is  I.  I  must  do  penance.  What  is 
it  to  be?" 

He  looked  at  her  steadily;  his  eyes  shone  with 
dark  fire.  In  the  pause  she  felt  her  heart  throb 
quickly,  and  she  laughed  with  a  sweet  unsteadiness. 
"I  am  glad  you  are  going  to  give  me  none,"  she  said. 

"But  I  do,"  he  answered,  "I  shall.    I—" 

The  boy  Ito,  behind  them,  spoke  his  name.  Daunt 
started  with  a  stab  of  recollection  and  drew  from  his 
pocket  a  folded  pink  paper,  fastened  with  a  blue  seal. 

222 


THE  NIGHTLESS  CITY 

"How  stupid  of  me!  My  wits  have  gone  wool- 
gathering to-night.  Here  is  a  telegram  for  you.  It 
came  soon  after  we  left  the  Embassy,  and  Mrs.  Dan- 
dridge,  thinking  it  might  be  urgent,  sent  Ito  after  us 
to  the  tea-house.  He  missed  us,  but  saw  me  here  on 
his  way  back." 

Barbara  broke  the  seal  and  held  the  message  to 
the  candle-light  that  shone  from  a  low  temple  en- 
trance. She  did  not  notice  at  the  moment  that  it 
was  the  temple  of  the  Fox-God  whose  alms  she  had 
that  evening  denied.  She  had  guessed  who  was  the 
sender  and  the  knowledge  fell  like  a  cool,  fateful 
hand  on  her  mood. 

And  alas,  on  Daunt's  also.  For,  as  she  turned 
the  leaf,  his  gaze,  wandering  through  the  temple 
doorway,  to  the  candle-starred  mirror  above  the 
tithe-box,  had  unwittingly  seen  reflected  there,  in 
the  painfully  exact  chirography  of  a  Japanese  tele- 
graph-clerk, the  signature 


223 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

LIKE  THE  WHISPER  OF  A  BAl's  WINGS 

ON  the  other  side  of  Tokyo  that  night  Doctor 
Bersonin  sat  with  Phil  in  his  great  labora- 
tory. Dinner  had  been  laid  on  a  round  table 
at  one  end  of  the  room.  This  was  now  pushed  into 
a  corner;  they  sat  in  deep  leather  chairs  with  slim 
liqueur  glasses  of  green  creme  de  menthe  on  a 
stand  between  them,  with  a  methyl  lamp  and  cigars. 

Phil  had  more  than  once  refilled  his  glass  from  the 
straw-braided,  long-necked  vessel  at  his  elbow.  He 
was  restless  and  ill  at  ease.  The  tense  excitement 
that  had  followed  his  hour  with  Bersonin  at  the  Club 
had  been  allayed  by  the  lights  and  movement  of  the 
cherry-festival;  but  in  that  cool,  bare  room,  under 
the  continuous,  slow  scrutiny  of  the  expert's  pallid, 
mask-like  face,  the  sense  of  half-fearful  elation  had 
returned,  reinforced  by  a  feverish  expectation. 

During  the  dinner,  served  at  ten,  conversation  had 
been  desultory,  full  of  lapses  broken  only  by  the 
plaintive  chirp  of  the  hiwa  from  its  corner.  When 
the  cigars  and  cordial  had  been  brought  by  the  silent- 
footed  Ishida,  Bersonin  had  risen  to  draw  the  cur- 

224 


THE  WHISPER  OF  A  BAT'S  WINGS 

tain  closely  over  the  window  and  to  lock  the  door. 
When  he  came  back  he  stood  before  the  mantel- 
piece, his  arm  laid  along  it,  looking  down  from  his 
towering  height  on  the  other's  unquiet  hand  play- 
ing with  the  chain  of  the  spirit-lamp.  His  face  was 
very  white.  Phil  drew  a  long,  slow  breath  and 
looked  up. 

Bersonin  spoke.  His  voice  was  cold  and  meas- 
ured; the  only  sign  of  agitation  was  in  the  slow, 
spasmodic  working  of  the  great  white  fingers  against 
the  dark  wood. 

"I  have  brought  you  here  to-night,"  he  said,  "to 
make  you  a  proposition.  I  have  need  of  help — of  a 
kind — that  you  can  give  me.  It  will  require  certain 
qualities  which  I  think  you  possess — which  we  pos- 
sess in  common.  I  have  chosen  you  because  you 
have  daring  and  because  you  are  not  troubled  by 
what  the  coward  calls  conscience — that  fool's  name 
for  fear  r 

Phil  touched  his  dry  lips  with  his  tongue.  "I  have 
as  little  of  that  as  the  next  man,"  he  replied.  "I 
never  found  I  needed  much." 

Bersonin  continued : 

"What  I  have  to  say  I  can  say  without  misgiving. 
For  if  you  told  it  before  the  fact  there  is  possibly 
but  one  man  in  Japan  who  would  think  you  sane; 
and  if  you  told  it  after — well,  for  your  own  safety, 
you  will  not  tell  it  then!  Your  acceptance  of  my 
proposition  will  have  a  definite  effect  on  your  pros- 

225 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

pects,  which,  I  believe,  can  scarcely  be  looked  on  as 
bright." 

Phil  muttered  an  oath.  "You  needn't  remind  me 
of  that,"  he  said  with  surly  emphasis.  "I've  got 
about  as  much  prospects  as  a  coolie  stevedore.  Well, 
what  of  it?" 

The  cold  voice  went  on,  and  now  it  had  gathered 
a  sneer : 

"You  are  twenty-three,  educated,  good-looking, 
with  the  best  of  life  before  you — but  dependent  on 
the  niggardly  charity  of  a  rich  brother  for  the  very 
bread  you  eat.  Even  here,  on  this  skirt  of  the  world 
where  pleasures  are  cheap,  it  is  only  by  dint  of 
debt  that  you  keep  your  head  above  water.  Now 
your  sedate  relative  has  come  to  sit  in  judgment  on 
your  past  year.  What  does  he  care  for  your  private 
tastes?  What  will  he  do  when  he  hears  of  the 
gelslia  suppers  and  the  bar-chits  at  the  Club  and  the 
roulette  table  at  the  bungalow?  Increase  that  gen- 
erous stipend  of  yours  ?  I  fancy  not." 

Phil  lit  a  cigar  with  a  hand  that  shook.  The  doc- 
tor's contemptuous  words  had  roused  a  tingling  an- 
ger that  raced  with  the  alcohol  in  his  blood.  He, 
with  the  tastes  of  a  gentleman,  as  poor  as  a  temple- 
rat,  while  his  brother  sailed  around  the  globe  in  his 
steam-yacht!  He  saw  his  allowance  cut  off — saw 
himself  driven  to  the  cheap  expedients  of  the  Bund 
beach-comber,  cringing  for  a  yen  from  men  who 
had  won  his  hundreds  at  the  Roost — or  perhaps 

226 


THE  WHISPER  OF  A  BAT'S  WINGS 

sitting  on  an  tinder-clerk's  stool  in  some  Settlement 
counting-house,  shabby-genteel,  adding  figures  from 
eight  in  the  morning  to  five  at  night.  No  more 
moon-light  cherry-parties  on  the  Sumida  River,  or 
plum-blossom  picnics,  or  high  jinks  in  the  Inland 
Sea.  No  more  pony-races  at  Qmori,  or  cat-boat 
sailing  at  Kamakura,  or  philandering  at  the  Maple- 
Leaf  Tea-House.  No  more  laughing  Japanese  faces 
and  tinted  fingers — no  more  stolen  kisses  in  bamboo 
lanes — no  more  Haru ! 

He  struck  the  stand  with  his  fist.  "And  if — I 
agree?"  he  said  thickly.  "What  then?" 

Bersonin  leaned  forward,  his  hands  on  the  stand. 
It  rocked  under  his  weight.  "I  have  talked  of 
money.  I  will  show  you  a  quick  way  to  gain  it — 
not  by  years,  but  by  days! — wealth  such  as  you  have 
never  dreamed,  enough  to  make  your  brother  poor 
beside  you!  Not  only  money,  but  power  and  place 
and  honors.  Is  the  stake  big  enough  to  play  for?" 

Phil  stared  at  him,  fascinated.  It  was  not  mad- 
ness back  of  those  dappled,  yellowish  eyes.  They 
were  full  of  a  knowledge,  cold  and  measured  and 
implacable. 

"What  do  you — want  me  to  do?"  He  almost 
gasped  the  words. 

The  expert  looked  him  in  the  eye  a  full  moment 
in  silence,  his  fingers  crawling  and  twitching.  Then, 
with  a  quick,  leopard-like  movement,  he  went  to  the 
wall-safe,  opened  it  and  took  out  what  seemed  a 

227 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

square  metal  box.  In  its  top  was  set  an  indicator, 
like  the  range-finder  of  a  camera.  Its  very  touch 
seemed  to  melt  his  icy  control.  His  paleness  flushed; 
his  hand  trembled  as  he  set  it  upon  the  desk. 

"Wait!"  he  said.    "Wait!" 

He  looked  swiftly  about  the  room.  His  eye  rested 
on  the  bamboo  cage  and  a  quick  gleam  shot  across 
his  face.  He  opened  the  wire  door  and  the  little  bird 
hopped  to  his  finger.  He  moved  a  metal  pen-rack 
to  the  very  center  of  the  desk  and  perched  the  tiny 
creature  on  it.  It  burst  into  song,  warbling  full- 
throated,  packed  with  melody.  Bersonin  set  the 
metal  case  a  little  distance  away  and  adjusted  it  with 
minutest  care. 

"Sing,  Dick!"  he  cried  loudly;  "sing!  sing! — " 

The  song  stopped.  There  had  come  a  thrill  in  the 
air — a  puff  of  icy  wind  on  Phil's  face — a  thin  chim- 
ing like  a  fairy  cymbal.  Phil  sprang  up  with  a  cry. 
The  fluffy  ball,  with  its  metal  perch,  had  utterly  dis- 
appeared ;  only  in  the  center  of  the  desk  was  a  pinch 
of  reddish-brown  powder  like  the  dust  of  an  emery- 
wheel,  laid  in  feathery  whorls. 

He  stared  transfixed.  "What  does  it  mean?"  he 
asked  hoarsely. 

The  doctor's  voice  was  no  longer  toneless.  It 
leaped  now  with  an  evil  exultation.  "It  means  that 
I — Bersonin — have  found  what  physicists  have 
dreamed  of  for  fifty  years !  I  have  solved  the  secret 
of  the  love  and  hatred  of  atoms!  That  box  is  the 

228 


THE  WHISPER  OF  A  BAT'S  WINGS 

harness  of  a  force  beside  which  the  engines  of  mod- 
ern war  are  children's  toys." 

He  grasped  Phil's  arm  with  a  force  that  made  him 
wince.  The  amber  eyes  glittered. 

"At  first  I  planned  to  sell  it  to  the  highest  bidder 
among  the  powers.  I  was  a  fool  to  think  of  that! 
The  nation  that  buys  it,  to  guard  the  secret  for  it- 
self, must  wall  me  in  a  fortress !  That  would  be  the 
reward  of  Bersonin — the  great  Bersonin,  who  had 
wrested  from  nature  the  most  subtle  of  her  secrets ! 
But  I  am  too  clever  for  that !  It  must  be  / — /  alone 
— who  holds  the  key !  It  shall  bring  me  many  things, 
but  the  first  of  these  is  money.  I  must  have  funds — 
unlimited  funds.  The  money  I  despise,  except  as  a 
stepping-stone,  but  the  money  you  love  and  must 
have !  Well,  I  offer  it  to  you !" 

Phil's  heart  was  beating  hard.  The  tension  of  the 
room  had  increased;  a  hundred  suffocating  atmos- 
pheres seemed  pressing  on  it.  "How — how — "  he 
stammered. 

Bersonin  took  a  paper  from  his  pocket,  unfolded  it 
and  laid  it  on  the  stand.  It  was  a  chart  of  Yoko- 
hama harbor.  A  red  square  was  drawn  in  the  mar- 
gin, and  from  this  a  fine,  needle-like  ray  pointed  out 
across  the  anchorage.  With  his  pencil  the  Doctor 
wrote  two  words  on  the  red  square — "The  Roost." 

Phil  shrank  trembling  into  his  chair.  He  seemed 
to  see  the  other  looking  at  him  over  clinking  glasses 
at  the  Club,  while  voices  spoke  from  the  next  room. 

229 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"What  if  one  of  those  Drcadnuughts  should  go 
down  in  this  friendly  harbor!"  It  came  from  his 
lips  in  a  thin  whisper,  almost  without  his  volition — 
the  answer  to  the  question  that  had  haunted  him 
that  day. 

A  gleam  like  the  fire  of  unholy  altars  came  in  Ber- 
sonin's  eyes. 

"Not  one — two!  A  bolt  from  a  blue  sky,  that 
will  echo  over  Europe!  And  what  then?  A  fury 
of  popular  passion  in  one  country;  suspicion  and 
alarm  in  all.  Rumors  of  war,  fanned  by  the  yellow 
press.  The  bottom  dropping  out  of  the  market! 
It  means  millions  at  a  single  coup,  for,  in  spite  of 
diplomatic  quibbles,  the  market  is  like  a  cork.  The 
Paris  bourse  is  soaring.  Wall  Street  will  make  a 
new  record  to-morrow.  In  London,  Consols  are  at 
Ninety-two.  My  agents  are  awaiting  my  word.  I 
have  many,  for  that  is  safer.  I  shall  spread  selling 
orders  over  five  countries — British  bonds  in  Vienna 
and  New  York,  and  steel  and  American  railroads  in 
London.  I  risk  all  and  you — nothing.  Yet  if  you 
join  hands  with  me  in  this  we  shall  share  alike — 
you  and  I!  And  with  the  winnings  we  get  now 
we  shall  get  more.  Trust  me  to  know  the  way! 
Money  shall  be  dirt  to  you.  The  pleasure-cities  of 
every  continent  shall  be  your  playgrounds.  You 
shall  have  your  pretty  little  Japanese  peri,  and  fifty 
more  besides." 

Phil's  face  had  flushed  and  paled  by  turns.  He 
230 


THE  WHISPER  OF  A  BAT'S  WINGS 

looked  at  the  expert  with  a  shivering  fascination : 
"But  there  are — there  will  be — men  aboard  those 
ships  .  .  ."  He  shuddered  and  wrenched  his 
gaze  away. 

Bersonin  put  out  his  great  hand  and  laid  it  on  the 
other's  shoulder — its  weight  seemed  to  be  pressing 
him  down  into  the  chair. 

"Well?"  he  said,  in  a  low  intense  voice.  "What 
if  there  are?'' 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  slowly  Phil  lifted 
a  face  as  white  as  paper.  A  look  slinking  and  devil- 
ish lay  in  it  now. 

The  doctor  bent  down  and  began  to  speak  in  a 
low  tone.  The  sound  passed  around  the  room,  sibi- 
lant, like  the  sound  of  a  bat's  wings  in  the  dark. 

It  was  an  hour  before  midnight  when  Phil  opened 
the  gate  of  the  expert's  house  and  passed  down  the 
moon-lighted  street.  He  walked  stumblingly,  cow- 
ering at  the  tree-shadows,  peering  nervously  over 
his  shoulder  like  one  who  feels  the  presence  of  a 
ghastly  familiar. 

In  the  great  room  he  had  left,  Bersonin  stood  by 
the  fireplace.  The  nervous  strain  and  exaltation 
were  still  on  him.  He  poured  out  a  glass  of  the 
liqueur  which  he  had  not  yet  tasted  and  drank  it  off. 
The  hot  pungent  mint  sent  a  glow  along  his  nerves. 
Behind  him  Ishida  was  methodically  removing  the 
dinner  service.  The  doctor  crossed  the  room  and 

231 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

stood  before  the  bamboo  cage.  He  drew  back  the 
spring-door  and  whistling,  held  out  his  finger. 

"Here,  Dick!"  he  called.    "Here,  boy!" 

There  was  no  response. 

He  started.  His  face  turned  a  gray-green.  He 
drew  back  and  stealthily  turned  his  head. 

But  the  Japanese  did  not  seem  to  have  noticed  the 
silence.  With  the  tray  in  his  hands,  he  was  looking 
fixedly  at  the  feathery  sprays  of  reddish-yellow  dust 
on  the  polished  top  of  the  desk. 


232 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE   FORGOTTEN    MAN 

BARBARA  pushed  open  the  bamboo  gate  of 
the  temple  garden,  then  paused.  The  recluse 
with  whom  she  had  talked  yesterday  sat  a  lit- 
tle way  inside,  while  before  him,  in  an  attitude  of 
deepest  attention,  stood  the  diminutive  figure  on 
the  huge  clogs  whose  morning  acquaintance  she  had 
made  from  her  window.  Thorn  was  looking  at  him 
earnestly  with  his  great  myopic  eye,  through  a  heavy 
glass  mounted  with  a  handle  like  a  lorgnette. 

"My  son,"  he  said.  "Why  will  you  persist  in  eat- 
ing ame,  when  I  have  taught  you  the  classics  and 
the  true  divinity  of  the  universe?  It  is  too  sweet 
for  youthful  teeth.  One  of  these  days  you  will  be 
carried  to  a  dentist,  an  esteemed  person  with  horri- 
ble tools,  prior  to  the  removal  of  a  small  hell,  con- 
taining several  myriads  of  lost  souls,  from  the  left 
side  of  your  lower  jaw !" 

Barbara's  foot  grated  on  a  pebble  and  he  rose 
with  a  startled  quickness.  The  youngster  bent  dou- 
ble, his  face  preternaturally  grave.  Thorn  thrust 
the  glass  into  his  sleeve  and  smiled. 

"I  am  experimenting  on  this  oriental  raw  mate- 
233 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

rial,"  he  said,  "to  illustrate  certain  theories  of  my 
own.  Ishikichi-SVw,  though  a  slave  to  the  sweet- 
meat dealer,  is  a  learned  infant.  He  can  write  forty 
Chinese  characters  and  recite  ten  texts  of  Mencius. 
He  also  knows  many  damnable  facts  about  figures 
which  they  teach  in  school.  He  has  just  propounded 
a  question  that  Confucius  was  too  wise  to  answer : 
'Why  is  poverty?'  Not  being  so  wise  as  the  Chinese 
sage,  I  attempted  its  elucidation.  Thus  endeth  our 
lesson  to-day,  Ishikichi.  Sayonara." 

He  bowed.  The  child  ducked  with  a  jerky  sud- 
denness that  sent  his  round,  battered  hat  rolling  at 
Barbara's  feet.  She  picked  it  up  and  set  it  on  the 
shaven  head. 

"Oh!"  she  said  humbly.  "I  beg  your  pardon, 
Ishikichi !  I  put  the  rim  right  in  your  eye !" 

"Don't  menshum  it,"  he  returned  solemnly.  "I 
got  another."  He  stalked  to  the  gate,  faced  about, 
bobbed  over  again  and  disappeared. 

Barbara  looked  after  him  smilingly.  "Is  Ishi- 
kichi in  straitened  circumstances?  Or  is  his  bent 
political  economy?" 

"His  father  has  been  ill  for  a  long  time,"  Thorn 
replied.  "He  keeps  a  shop,  and  in  some  way  the 
child  has  heard  that  they  will  have  to  give  it  up.  It 
troubles  him,  for  he  can't  imagine  existence  with- 
out it." 

"What  a  pity !  I  would  be  so  glad  to — do  you 
think  I  could  give  them  something?" 

234 


THE  FORGOTTEN  MAN 

He  shook  his  head.  "After  you  have  been  here 
a  while,  you  will  find  that  simple  charity  in  Japan  is 
not  apt  to  be  a  welcome  thing." 

"I  am  beginning1  to  understand  already,"  she 
said,  as  they  walked  along  the  stepping-stones,  "that 
these  gentle-mannered  people  do  not  lack  the  sterner 
qualities.  Yet  how  they  grace  them!  The  iron- 
hand  is  here,  but  it  has  the  velvet  glove.  Courtesy 
and  kindness  seem  almost  a  religion  with  them." 

"More,"  he  answered.  "This  is  the  only  country 
I  have  seen  in  the  world  whose  people,  when  I  walk 
the  street,  do  not  seem  to  notice  that  I  am  disfig- 
ured!" 

She  made  no  pretense  of  misunderstanding.  "Be- 
lieve me,"  she  said  gently,  "it  is  no  disfigurement. 
But  I  understand.  My  father  lived  all  his  life  in  the 
dread  of  blindness." 

A  faint  sound  came  from  him.  She  was  aware, 
without  lifting  her  eyes  to  his,  that  he  was  staring  at 
her  strangely. 

"All  his  life.  Then  your  father  is  not  .  .  . 
living?" 

"He  died  before  I  was  born." 

She  glanced  at  him  as  she  spoke,  for  his  tone  had 
been  mufHed  and  indistinct.  There  was  a  deep  fur- 
row in  his  forehead  which  she  had  not  seen  before. 

"Do  you  look  like  him  ?" 

"No,  he  was  dark.    I  am  like  my  mother." 

Thorn  was  looking  away  from  her,  toward  the 
235 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

lane,  where,  beyond  the  hedge,  a  man  was  passing, 
half-singing,  half-chanting  to  himself  in  a  repressed, 
sepulchral  voice. 

"My  mother  died,  too,  when  I  was  a  little  girl," 
she  added,  "so  I  know  really  very  little  about  him." 

She  had  forgotten  to  look  for  the  Flower-of- 
Dream.  They  had  come  to  the  little  lake  with  its 
mossy  stones  and  basking,  orange  carp.  Through 
the  gap  in  the  shrubbery  the  white  witchery  of  Fuji- 
San  glowed  in  the  sun  with  far- faint  shudderings  of 
lilac  fire.  She  sat  down  on  a  sunny  boulder.  Thorn 
stooped  over  the  water,  looking  into  its  cool,  green 
depths,  and  she  saw  him  pass  his  hand  over  his 
brow  in  that  familiar,  half-hesitant  gesture  of  the 
day  before. 

"Will  you  tell  me  that  little  ?"  he  asked.  "I  think 
I  should  like  to  hear." 

"I  very  seldom  talk  about  him,"  she  said,  looking 
dreamily  out  across  the  distance,  "but  not  because  I 
don't  like  to.  You  see,  knowing  so  little,  I  used  to 
dream  out  the  rest,  so  that  he  came  to  seem  quite 
real.  Does  that  sound  very  childish  and  fanciful?" 

"Tell  me  the  dreams,"  he  answered.  "Mine  are 
always  more  true  than  facts." 

"He  was  born,"  she  began,  "in  the  Mediter- 
ranean— " 

She  turned  her  head.  The  stone  on  which  Thorn's 
foot  rested  had  crashed  into  the  water.  He  stag- 
gered slightly  in  regaining  his  balance,  and  his  face 

236 


THE  FORGOTTEN  MAN 

had  the  pale,  startled  look  it  wore  when  he  had  first 
seen  her  from  the  roadside.  He  drew  back,  and 
again  his  hand  went  up  across  his  face. 

"Yes,"  he  said.    "Go  on." 

"In  the  Mediterranean — just  where,  I  don't  know, 
but  on  an  island — and  his  mother  was  Romaic.  I 
have  never  seen  Greece,  but  I  like  to  know  that  some 
of  it  is  in  my  blood.  His  father  was  American,  of  a 
family  that  had  a  tradition  of  Gipsy  descent.  Per- 
haps he  was  born  with  the  'thumb-print'  on  the  palm 
that  they  call  the  Romany  mark.  As  a  child  I  used 
to  wonder  what  it  looked  like." 

She  smiled  up  at  him,  but  his  face  was  turned 
away.  He  had  taken  his  hand  from  his  brow,  and 
slipped  it  into  his  loose  sleeve,  and  stood  rigidly 
erect. 

"I  often  used  to  try  to  imagine  his  mother.  I  am 
sure  she  had  a  dark  and  beautiful  face,  with  large, 
brown  eyes  like  a  wild  deer's,  that  used  to  bend 
above  his  cradle.  Perhaps  each  night  she  crossed 
her  fingers  over  him,  and  said — " 

"En  to  onoma  tou  Patros,"  he  repeated,  "kai  tou 
Ouiou  kai  tou  Agiou  Pneumatos!" 

"Yes,"  she  said,  surprised.  "In  the  name  of  the 
Father,  Son  and  Holy  Ghost.  You  know  it?" 

"It  is  the  old  Greek-orthodox  fashion,"  he  said 
in  a  low  voice. 

"I  should  not  wonder,"  she  continued,  "if  she 
made  three  little  wounds  on  him,  as  a  baby,  as  I 

237 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

have  read  Greek  mothers  do,  to  place  him  under  the 
protection  of  the  Trinity.  She  must  have  loved 
him — her  first  boy-baby!  And  I  think  the  most  of 
what  he  was  came  to  him  from  her." 

Thorn  moved  his  position  suddenly,  and  Barbara 
saw  his  shoulders  rise  in  a  deep-taken  breath. 

"Love  of  right  and  hatred  of  wrong,"  he  said, 
"admiration  for  the  beautiful  and  the  true,  faith  in 
man  and  woman,  sensitiveness  to  artistic  things — 
ah,  it  is  most  often  the  mother  who  makes  men  what 
they  are.  Not  our  strength  or  power  of  calculation, 
but  her  heart  and  power  to  love !  In  the  twilight  of 
every  home  one  sees  the  mother-souls  glowing  like 
fireflies.  I  never  had  a  picture  of  my  mother.  I 
would  rather  have  her  portrait  than  a  fortune !" 

His  voice  was  charged  with  feeling.  She  felt  a 
strange  flutter  of  the  heart,  a  painful  and  yearning 
sympathy  such  as  she  had  never  felt  before. 

"I  wonder  what  he  saw  from  that  Greek  cradle," 
she  resumed.  "I  could  never  fancy  the  room  so  well. 
I  suppose  it  had  pictures.  Do  you  think  so  ?" 

He  nodded.  "And  maybe — on  one  wall — a  Greek 
ikon,  protected  by  a  silver  case  .  .  .  I've  seen 
such  .  .  .  that  left  exposed  only  the  olive- 
brown  faces  and  hands  and  feet  of  the  figures.  Per- 
haps .  .  .  when  he  was  very  little  .  .  . 
he  used  to  think  the  brown  Virgin  represented  his 
mother  and  the  large-eyed  child  himself." 

"Ah,"  she  cried,  and  a  deeper  light  came  in  her 
238 


THE  FORGOTTEN  MAN 

eyes.  "You  have  been  in  Greece!  You  have  seen 
what  he  saw!"  But  he  made  no  reply,  and  after  a 
moment  she  went  on : 

"He  had  never  known  what  terror  was  till  one  day 
an  accident,  received  in  play,  brought  him  the  fear 
of  blindness.  It  must  have  stayed  with  him  all  his 
life  after  that,  wherever  he  went — for  he  lived  in 
other  countries.  I  have  a  few  leaves  of  an  old 
diary  of  his  ...  here  and  there  I  feel  it  in  the 
lines." 

She,  too,  fell  silent.    "And  then — ?"  he  said. 

"There  my  dreams  end.  You  see  how  little  I 
know  of  him.  I  don't  know  why  he  came  to  Japan. 
But  he  met  my  mother  here  and  here  they  were 
married.  I  should  always  love  Japan,  if  only  for 
that." 

"He— <liedhere?" 

"In  Nagasaki.  My  mother  went  back  to  America, 
and  there  I  was  born." 

She  was  looking  out  across  the  wide  space  where 
the  roofs  sank  out  of  sight — to  the  foliaged  slope  of 
Aoyama.  Suddenly  a  thrill,  a  curiously  complex 
motion,  ran  over  her.  Above  those  far  tree-tops, 
sailing  in  slow,  sweeping,  concentric  circles,  she  saw 
a  great  machine,  like  a  gigantic  vulture.  She  knew 
instantly  what  it  was,  and  there  flashed  before  her 
the  memory  of  a  day  at  Fort  Logan  when  a  brave 
young  lieutenant  had  crashed  to  death  before  her 
eyes  in  a  shattered  aeroplane. 

239 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

If  Daunt  were  to  fall  .  .  .  what  would  it 
mean  to  her !  In  that  instant  the  garden  about  her, 
Thorn,  the  blue  sky  above,  faded,  and  she  stared 
dismayed  into  a  gulf  in  whose  shadows  lurked  the 
disastrous,  the  terrifying,  the  irreparable.  "I  love 
him !  I  love  him !" — it  seemed  to  peal  like  a  temple- 
bell  through  her  brain.  Even  to  herself  she  could 
never  deny  it  again ! 

She  became  aware  of  music  near  at  hand.  It 
brought  her  back  to  the  present,  for  it  was  the  sound 
of  the  organ  in  the  new  Chapel  across  the  way. 

Looking  up,  she  was  struck  by  the  expression  on 
Thorn's  face.  He  seemed,  listening,  to  be  held  cap- 
tive by  some  dire  recollection.  It  brought  to  her 
mind  that  bitter  cry : 

"I  can  not  but  remember  such  things  were, 
That  were  most  precious  to  me!" 

She  rose  with  a  sudden  swelling  of  the  throat. 

"I  must  go  now,"  she  said.  "The  Chapel  is  to  be 
dedicated  this  morning.  The  organ  is  playing  for 
the  service  now/' 

She  led  the  way  along  the  stepping-stones  to  the 
bamboo  gate.  As  they  approached,  through  the  in- 
terstices of  the  farther  hedge  she  could  see  the  figure 
of  the  Ambassador,  with  Mrs.  Dandridge,  among 
the  kimono  entering  the  chapel  door.  In  the  temple 
across  the  yard  the  baton  had  begun  its  tapping  and 

240 


THE  FORGOTTEN  MAN 

the  dulled,  monotonous  tom-tom  mingled  weirdly 
with  the  soaring  harmonies  of  the  organ. 

With  her  hand  on  the  paling  she  spoke  again : 

"One  thing  I  didn't  tell  you.  It  was  I  who  built 
the  Chapel.  It  is  in  the  memory  of  my  father.  See, 
there  is  the  memorial  window.  They  were  putting 
it  in  place  when  I  came  a  little  while  ago." 

She  was  not  looking  at  Thorn,  or  she  would  have 
seen  his  face  overspread  with  a  whiteness  like  that 
of  death.  He  stood  as  if  frozen  to  marble.  The 
morning  sun  on  the  Chapel's  eastern  side,  striking 
through  its  open  casements,  lighted  the  iridescent 
rose-window  with  a  tender  radiance,  gilding  the  dull 
yellow  aureole  about  the  head  of  the  Master  and 
giving  life  and  glow  to  the  face  beside  Him — dark, 
beardless,  and  passionately  tender —  at  which  Thorn 
was  staring,  with  what  seemed  almost  an  agony  of 
inquiry. 

"St.  John,"  she  said  softly,  "  'the  disciple  whom 
Jesus  loved.' '  She  drew  from  the  bosom  of  her 
dress  the  locket  she  always  wore  and  opened  it. 
"The  face  was  painted  from  this — the  only  picture  I 
have  of  my  father." 

His  hand  twitched  as  he  took  it.  He  looked  at  it 
long  and  earnestly — at  the  name  carved  on  its  lid. 
"Barbara — Barbara  Fairfax !"  he  said.  She  thought 
his  lips  shook  under  the  gray  mustache. 

"You — are  a  Buddhist,  are  you  not?"  she  asked. 
"And  Buddhists  believe  the  spirits  of  the  dead  are 

241 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

always  about  us.  Do  you  think — perhaps — he  sees 
the  Chapel?" 

He  put  her  locket  into  her  hands  hastily.  "God !" 
he  said,  as  if  to  himself.  "He  will  see  it  through 
a  hundred  existences !" 

Her  eyes  were  moist  and  shining.  "I  am  glad 
you  think  that,"  she  said. 

In  the  Chapel  the  bishop's  gaze  kindled  as  it  went 
out  over  the  kneeling  people. 

"We  beseech  Thee,  that  in  this  place  now  set  apart 
to  Thy  service,  Thy  holy  name  may  be  -worshiped  in 
truth  and  purity  through  all  generations." 

The  voice  rang  valiant  and  clear  in  the  summer 
hush.  It  crossed  the  still  lane  and  entered  a  win- 
dow where,  in  a  temple  loft,  a  man  sat  still  and  gray 
and  quiet,  his  hands  clenched  in  his  kimono  sleeves : 

"We  humbly  dedicate  it  to  Thee,  in  the  memory 
of  one  for  the  saving  of  whose  soul  Thou  wert  lifted 
upon  the  Cross." 

The  man  in  the  loft  threw  himself  on  his  face 
with  a  terrible  cry. 

"My  child!"  he  cried  in  a  breaking  voice.  "My 
little,  little  child,  whom  they  have  robbed  me  of— 
whom  I  have  never  known  in  all  these  weary  years ! 
You  have  grown  away  from  me — I  shall  never  have 
you  now !  Never  .  .  .  never !" 

242 


THE  FORGOTTEN  MAN 

Behind  him  the  unfinished  image  of  Kwan-on  the 
All-Pitying,  tossed  the  sunlight  about  the  room  in 
golden-lettered  flashes,  and  beneath  his  closed  and 
burning  lids  these  seemed  to  blend  and  weave — to 
form  bossed  letters  which  had  stared  at  him  from 
the  rim  of  the  rose-window : 

THOU  SHALT  HAVE  NO  OTHER  GODS  BEFORE  ME. 


243 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

DAUNT   LISTENS   TO   A   SONG 

THE  day  had  dawned  sultry,  with  a  promise 
of   summer   humidity,   and   Daunt   was   not 
surprised  to  find  the  barometer  performing 
intemperate  antics.     "Confound   it!"   he  muttered 
irritably,  as  he  dressed.     "If  it  was  a  month  later, 
one  would   think  there   was   a   typhoon   waltzing 
around  somewhere  in  the  China  Sea." 

That  morning  had  seen  his  first  trial  of  his  new 
fan-propeller,  and  the  Glider's  action  had  surpassed 
his  wildest  expectation.  The  flight,  of  which  Bar- 
bara had  caught  a  glimpse  from  Thorn's  garden,  had 
been  a  longer  one  than  usual — quite  twelve  miles 
against  a  sluggish  upper  current — but  even  that 
failed  to  bring  its  customary  glow.  Thereafter  he 
had  spent  a  long  morning  immersed  in  the  work  of 
the  Chancery:  the  study  of  a  disputed  mining  con- 
cession in  Manchuria;  a  report  on  a  contemplated 
issue  of  government  bonds ;  a  demand  for  a  passport 
by  a  self-alleged  national  with  a  foreign  accent  and 
a  paucity  of  naturalization  papers;  the  daily  budget 
of  translations  from  vernacular  newspapers,  by 
which  a  home  government  gains  a  bird's-eye  view 

244 


DAUNT  LISTENS  TO  A  SONG 

of  comment  and  public  opinion  in  far-away  capitals. 
The  Chancery  was  a  pleasant  nest  of  rooms  open- 
ing into  one  another.  Through  its  windows  stole 
the  smell  of  the  garden  blossoms,  and  across  the 
compound  wall  sounded  the  shrill  ventriloquistic 
notes  of  peddlers,  the  brazen  chorus  of  a  marching 
squad  of  buglers,  or  the  warning  "Hekl  Hek!"  of  a 
flying  rick'sha.  The  main  room  was  cool,  fur- 
nished with  plain  desks  and  filing  cabinets.  Against 
one  wall  yawned  a  huge  safe  in  which  were  kept  the 
code-books  and  records,  and  framed  pictures  of 
former  Chiefs  of  Mission  hung  on  the  walls.  In 
the  anteroom  Japanese  clerks  and  messengers  sat 
at  small  tables.  The  place  was  pervaded  by  the 
click  of  type-writer  keys,  tinkling  call-bells,  and  the 
various  notes  of  a  busy  office,  and  floating  down 
from  a  stairway  came  the  buzzing  monotone  of  a 
Student  Interpreter  in  his  mid-year  oral  examina- 
tions under  the  Japanese  secretary. 

But  to-day  Daunt  could  not  exorcise  with  the 
mass  of  detail  the  leering  imps  that  plagued  him. 
They  peered  at  him  over  the  edge  of  the  code-books 
and  whispered  from  the  margins  of  decorous  des- 
patches, chuckling  satirically. 

"Barbara!"  they  sneered.  "Mere  acquaintances 
often  name  steam-yachts  for  girls,  don't  they !  Ar- 
rived the  same  day  as  her  ship,  eh  ?  Rather  singular 
coincidence!  What  a  flush  she  had  when  Voynich 
spoke  of  Phil's  brother  last  night  at  the  tea-house. 

245 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

Angry?  Of  course  she  was!  What  engaged  girl 
likes  to  have  the  fact  paraded — especially  when 
she's  practising  on  another  man?  And  how  about 
the  telegram?  How  long  have  you  known  her,  by 
the  way  ?  Two  days  ?  Really,  now !" 

The  weekly  governmental  pouch  had  closed  at 
noon,  and  pouch-days  were  half-holidays,  but  Daunt 
did  not  go  to  the  Embassy.  An  official  letter  had 
arrived  from  Washington  which  must  be  delivered 
in  Kamakura.  Daunt  seized  this  excuse,  plunged 
ferociously  into  tweeds  and  an  hour  afterward  found 
himself  in  a  railway  carriage  thudding  gloomily 
toward  the  lower  bay.  In  his  heart  he  knew  that 
he  was  trying  to  run  away — from  something  that 
nevertheless  traveled  with  him. 

The  sky  was  palely  blue,  without  a  cloud,  but  the 
bay,  where  the  rails  skirted  it,  was  heaving  in  long 
swells  of  oily  amethyst  like  a  vast  carpet  shaken  at 
a  distance  in  irregular  undulations,  on  which  junk 
with  flapping,  windless  sails,  of  the  deep  gold  color 
of  old  straw,  tumbled  like  ungainly  sea-spiders.  The 
western  hills  looked  misty  and  uncertain,  and  Fuji 
was  wrapped  in  a  wraith-like  mist  into  which  its 
glimmering  profile  disappeared. 

At  a  way-station  a  coolie  with  a  huge  tray  piled 
with  neat,  flat,  wooden  boxes  passed  the  window 
calling  "Ben-to!  !Ben-to!"  It  reminded  Daunt  that 
he  had  had  no  luncheon,  and  he  bought  one.  He 
had  long  ago  accustomed  himself  to  Japanese  food 

246 


DAUNT  LISTENS  TO  A  SONG 

and  liked  it,  but  to-day  the  two  shallow  sections  in- 
spired no  appetite.  The  half  which  held  the  rice  he 
viciously  threw  out  of  the  window  and  unrolling 
the  fresh-cut  chop-sticks  from  their  paper  square, 
rummaged  discontentedly  among  the  contents  of 
the  other :  dried  cuttlefish,  bean-curd,  slices  of  boiled 
lily-bulb,  cinnamon-sticks,  lotos  stems  and  a  coil  of 
edible  seaweed,  all  wrapped  in  green  leaves.  In 
the  end,  the  melange  followed  the  rice. 

At  Kamakura  an  immediate  answer  to  the  letter 
he  brought  was  not  forthcoming,  and  to  kill  the 
time  he  strolled  far  down  the  curved  beach.  The 
usual  breeze  was  lacking.  A  haze  as  fine  as  gos- 
samer had  drawn  itself  over  the  sky,  and  through 
it  gulls  were  calling  plaintively.  Here  and  there  on 
the  sea-wall  women  were  spreading  fish-nets,  and 
along  the  causeway  trudged  blue-legged  peasant- 
women,  their  backs  bent  beneath  huge  loads  of 
brushwood.  In  one  place  a  bronze-faced  fisherman 
in  a  fantastic  kimono  on  which  was  painted  sea- 
monsters  and  hobgoblins  in  crimson  and  orange, 
seated  on  the  gunwale  of  his  sampan  drawn  above 
the  shingle,  watched  a  little  girl  who,  with  clothing 
clutched  thigh-high,  was  skipping  the  frothy  rip- 
ples as  if  they  were  ropes  of  foam.  A  mile  from 
the  town  he  met  a  regiment  of  small  school-boys,  in 
indigo-blue  and  white  kimono,  marching  two  and 
two  like  miniature  soldiers,  a  teacher  in  European 

247 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

dress  at  either  end  of  the  line — future  Oyamas, 
Togos  and  Kurokis  in  embryo. 

They  were  coming  from  Enoshima,  the  hill-island 
that  rises  in  the  bay  like  an  emerald  St.  Michael, 
where  in  a  rocky  cave,  looking  seaward,  dwells  holy 
Ben-ten,  the  Buddhist  Goddess  of  Love.  Daunt 
could  see  its  masses  of  dark  green  foliage  with  their 
pink  veinings  of  cherry-trees,  and  the  crawling  line 
of  board-walk,  perched  on  piling,  which  gave  access 
from  the  mainland  when  the  tide  was  in.  On  its 
height,  if  anywhere,  would  be  coolness.  He  filled 
his  pipe  and  set  off  toward  it  along  the  sultry  sand. 
The  hot  dazzle  of  the  sun  was  in  his  face.  There 
was  no  movement  in  the  crisp  leaves  of  the  bamboo 
trees  and  the  damp  heat  beat  up  stiflingly  from  the 
gray  glare.  Somewhere  in  the  air,  stirless  and  hu- 
mid, there  rested  a  faint,  weedy  smell  like  a  steam- 
ing sea-growth  in  a  tidal  ooze. 

Daunt's  pipe  sputtered  feebly,  and,  girding  at  the 
heat,  he  hurled  it  at  a  handful  of  blue  ducks  that 
plashed  tiredly  in  the  gray-green  heave,  and  watched 
them  dive,  to  reappear  far  away,  like  bobbing  corks. 
He  wished  he  could  as  easily  scatter  the  blue-devils 
that  dogged  him. 

He  drew  a  sigh  of  relief  as  he  reached  the  long 
elevated  board-walk  and  shook  the  sand  from  his 
shoes.  Underneath  its  shore-end  a  fisherman  sat  in 
the  stern  of  a  boat  fishing  with  cormorants.  A  row 
of  the  solemn  birds  sat  on  a  pole  projecting  over  the 

248 


DAUNT  LISTENS  TO  A  SONG 

water,  each  tethered  by  a  string  whose  end  was  tied 
to  the  man's  wrist.  They  seemed  to  be  asleep,  but 
now  and  then  one  would  plunge  like  a  diver,  to 
reappear  with  a  fish  wriggling  in  its  beak.  Daunt 
watched  them  listlessly  a  moment,  then,  passing 
beneath  a  great  bronze  torii,  he  slowly  climbed  the 
single  shaded  street  that  staggered  up  the  hill  be- 
tween the  multitudes  of  gay  little  shops  running 
over  with  colored  sea-shells,  with  grotesque  lan- 
terns made  of  inflated  fish-skins,  with  carved  crystal 
and  pink  and  white  coral — up  and  up,  by  old,  old 
flights  of  mossy  steps,  under  more  ancient  trees, 
by  green  monuments  and  lichen-stippled  Buddhas, 
till  the  sea  below  crawled  like  a  wrinkled  coun- 
terpane. Daunt  knew  a  tea-house  on  the  very 
lip  of  the  cliff,  the  Kinki-ro — "Inn  of  the  Golden 
Turtle" — and  he  bent  his  steps  lazily  in  its  direc- 
tion. 

In  the  heavy  heat  the  low  tile  roof  looked  cool 
and  inviting.  Tall  soft-eyed  iris  were  standing  in 
its  garden  overlooking  the  water,  and  against  the 
green  their  velvety  leaves  made  vivid  splashes  of 
golden  blue.  On  a  dead  tree  two  black  crows  were 
quarreling  and  cherry-petals  powdered  the  paths 
like  pink  hail.  The  haze,  sifting  from  the  sky, 
seemed  to  wrap  everything  in  a  vast,  shimmering 
veil.  At  the  hedge  he  paused  an  instant.  Some  one, 
somewhere,  was  humming,  low-voiced,  an  air  that 
he  had  once  loved.  He  pushed  open  the  gate  and 

249 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

went  on  into  the  tremulous  radiance.  Then  he 
stopped  short. 

Barbara  was  seated  above  him  in  the  fork  of  a  low 
camelia  tree,  one  arm  laid  out  along  a  branch,  her 
green  gown  blending  with  a  bamboo  thicket  behind 
her  and  her  vivid  face  framed  in  the  blossoms. 
She  sat,  chin  in  hand,  looking  dreamily  out  across 
the  bay,  and  the  hummed  song  had  a  rhythm  that 
seemed  to  fit  her  thought — slow  and  infinitely  ten- 
der. 

"You!"  he  cried. 

She  turned  with  a  startled  movement  that  dis- 
solved into  low,  delicious  laughter. 

"Fairly  caught,"  she  answered.  "I  don't  often 
revert  far  enough  to  climb  trees,  but  I  thought  no 
one  but  Haru  and  I  was  here.  Will  you  come  and 
help  me  down,  Honorable  Fly-man?" 

"Wait — "  he  said.  "What  was  the  song  you  were 
humming  ?" 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  quick  intake  of  breath, 
then  for  answer  began  to  sing,  in  a  voice  that  pres- 
ently became  scarce  more  than  a  whisper : 

"Forgotten  you?    Well,  if  forgetting 

Be  hearing  all  the  day 
Your  voice  through  all  the  strange  babble 

Of  voices  grave,  now  gay — 
If  counting  each  moment  with  longing 

Till  the  one  when  I  see  you  again, 
If  this  be  forgetting,  you're  right,  dear! 
And  I  have  forgotten  you  then !" 
250 


DAUNT  LISTENS  TO  A  SONG 

Daunt's  hand  fell  to  his  side.  A  young  girl's  face 
nested  in  creamy,  pink  blossoms — a  sweet,  shy, 
flushed  face  under  a  mass  of  curling,  gold-bronze 
hair.  "I  remember  now!"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 
"I  ...  sang  it  to  you  .  .  .  that  day !" 

"I  am  flattered!"  she  exclaimed.  "The  day  be- 
fore yesterday  you  had  forgotten  that  you  ever  saw 
poor  little  me!  It  was  Mrs.  Claybourne,  of  course, 
that  you  sang  to !  Yet  you  were  my  idol  for  a  long 
month  and  a  day !" 

"It  was  to  you,"  he  said  unsteadily.  "I  didn't 
know  your  name.  But  I  never  forgot  the  song.  I 
remembered  it  that  night  in  the  garden,  when  I 
first  heard  you  playing !" 


251' 


CHAPTER   XXX 

THE   ISLAND   OF   ENCHANTMENT 

THEY   walked   together  around   the  curving 
road,    leaving    Haru    with    the    tea-basket. 
"Patsy  would  have  come,"  Barbara  had  said, 
"but  she  is  in  the  clutches  of  her  dressmaker."    And 
Daunt  had  answered,  "I  have  a  distinct  regard  for 
that  Chinaman!" 

His  black  mood  had  vanished,  and  the  leering 
imps  had  flown.  In  the  brightness  of  her  physical 
presence,  how  baseless  and  foolish  seemed  his  sullen 
imaginings !  What  man  who  owned  a  steam  yacht, 
knowing  her,  would  not  wish  to  name  it  the  Bar- 
bara? Walking  beside  her,  so  near  that  he  could 
feel  the  touch  of  her  light  skirt  against  his  ankles, 
it  seemed  impossible  that  he  should  ever  again  be 
other  than  light-hearted.  She  was  no  acquaintance 
of  hours,  after  all.  He  had  known  her  for  seven 
years.  He  was  in  wild  spirits. 

The  sky  was  duller  now.  Its  marvelous  haze  of 
blue  and  gold  had  turned  pallid,  and  the  sun  glared 
with  a  pale,  yellowish  effrontery.  A  strange  sigh- 
ing was  in  the  air,  so  faint,  however,  that  it  seemed 
only  the  stirring  of  innumerable  leaves,  the  resinous 

252 


THE  ISLAND  OF  ENCHANTMENT 

rasping  of  pine-needles  and  the  lisping  fall  of  the 
flaming  petals  from  the  century-old  camelia  trees, 
that  stained  the  ground  with  hot,  bleeding  red.  Far 
below  in  the  shallow  pools,  nut-brown,  bare-legged 
girls  were  gathering  seaweed  in  hand-nets,  kimono 
tucked  beneath  their  belts  and  scarlet  petticoats  fall- 
ing to  their  knees,  like  a  flock  of  brilliant  flamingos. 
At  a  turn  in  the  road  stood  a  stone  image  of  Jizo, 
with  a  red  paper  bib  about  its  neck.  Before  it  lay 
three  small  rice-cakes;  somewhere  in  the  neighbor- 
hood was  a  little  sick  child,  three  years  old.  At  its 
base  were  heaps  of  tiny  stones,  piled  by  mothers 
whose  little  children  had  died. 

They  stopped  at  a  tea-house  open  on  all  sides,  and, 
sitting  cross-legged  on  its  tatame,  drank  tea  from 
earthenware  pots  that  held  only  a  small  cupful, 
while  they  listened  to  a  street  minstrel  beating  on  a 
tom-tom,  and  singing  a  mysterious  song  that  seemed 
about  to  choke  him.  They  fed  a  crisp  rice-cake  to  a 
baby  sagging  from  an  urchin's  shoulder.  A  doll 
was  strapped  to  the  baby's  back.  They  peered  into 
a  Buddhist  temple  where  a  monotonous  chant  came 
from  behind  a  blue-figured  curtain.  They  went, 
laughing  like  two  children,  down  the  zigzag  stone 
steps,  past  innumerable  uomitei — crimson-benched 
"resting-houses,"  where  grave  Japanese  pedestrians 
sat  eating  stewed  eels  and  chipping  hard-boiled 
eggs — to  the  rocky  edge  of  the  tide,  which  now 
rolled  in  with  a  measured,  sullen  booming.  He 

253 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

pointed  to  a  gloomy  fissure  which  ran  into  the 
mountain,  at  a  little  distance. 

"O  Maiden,  journeying  to  Holy  Ben-ten,"  he 
said,  "behold  her  shrine !'' 

"How  disillusioning!" 

"People  find  love  so,  sometimes." 

She  slowly  shook  her  head.  "Not  all  of  them," 
she  said  softly.  "I  am  old-fashioned  enough  not  to 
believe  that."  Her  brown  eyes  were  wistful  and  a 
little  troubled,  and  her  voice  was  so  adorable  that 
he  could  have  gone  on  his  knees  to  her. 

"We  will  ask  Ben-ten  about  it,"  he  said. 

"Oh,  but  not  'wef  "  she  cried.  "I  must  go  alone. 
Don't  you  know  the  legend  ?  People  quarrel  if  they 
go  together." 

"I  can't  imagine  quarreling  with  you.  I'd  rather 
quarrel  with  myself." 

"That  would  be  difficult,  wouldn't  it?" 

"Not  in  some  of  my  moods.  Ask  my  head-boy. 
To-day,  for  instance — " 

"Well  ?"    For  he  had  paused. 

"I  was  meditating  self-destruction  when  I  met 
you." 

"By  what  interesting  method,  I  wonder?" 

"I  was  about  to  search  for  a  volcano  to  jump 
into." 

"I  thought  the  nearest  active  crater  is  a  hundred 
miles  away." 

"So  it  is,  but  I'm  an  absent-minded  beggar." 

.254 


THE  ISLAND  OF  ENCHANTMENT 

She  laughed.  "May  I  ask  what  inspired  today's 
suicidal  mood?" 

"It  was — a  telegram." 

"Oh!"  She  colored  faintly.  "I— I  hope  it  held 
no  bad  news." 

He  looked  into  her  eyes.  "I  hope  not,"  he  said. 
Something  else  was  on  his  tongue,  when  "Look!" 
she  exclaimed.  "How  strange  the  sea  looks  off 
there!" 

A  sinister,  whitish  bank,  like  a  mad  drift  of  smoke, 
lay  far  off  on  the  water,  and  a  tense,  whistling  hum 
came  from  the  upper  air.  A  drop  of  water  splashed 
on  Daunt's  wrist.  "There's  going  to  be  a  blow," 
he  said.  "The  seaweed  gatherers  are  all  coming 
in,  too.  Ben-ten  will  have  to  wait,  I'm  afraid.  See 
— even  her  High  Priest  is  forsaking  her !" 

From  where  they  stood  steps  were  roughly  hewn 
into  the  rock,  winding  across  the  face  of  the  cliff. 
Beside  these,  stone  pillars  were  socketed,  carrying 
an  iron  chain  that  hung  in  rusted  festoons.  Along 
this  precarious  pathway  from  the  cavern  an  old  man 
was  hastily  coming,  followed  by  a  boy  with  a  sag- 
ging bundle  tied  in  a  white  cloth.  "That  parcel,  no 
doubt,"  said  Daunt,  "contains  the  day's  offerings. 
Wait!  You're  not  going?"  For  she  had  started 
down  the  steps. 

She  had  turned  to  answer,  when,  with  the  sud- 
denness of  an  explosion,  a  burst  of  wind  fell  on 
them  like  a  flapping  weight,  spattering  them  with 

255 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

drops  that  struck  the  rock  as  if  hurled  from  a  sling- 
full  of  melted  metal.  Barbara  had  never  in  her  life 
experienced  anything  like  its  ferocity.  It  both 
startled  and  angered  her,  like  a  personal  affront. 

Daunt  had  sprung  to  her  side  and  was  shouting 
something.  But  the  words  were  indistinguishable; 
she  shook  her  head  and  went  on  stubbornly,  cling- 
ing to  the  chain,  a  whirl  of  blown  garments.  She 
felt  him  grasp  her  arm. 

"Go  back !"  she  shrieked.    "It's— bad— luck !" 

As  he  released  her  there  came  a  second's  mena- 
cing lull,  and  in  it  she  sprang  down  the  steps  and  ran 
swiftly  out  along  the  pathway.  He  was  after  her 
in  an  instant,  overtaking  her  on  a  frail  board  trestle 
that  spanned  a  pool,  where  the  cliff  was  perpendicu- 
lar. Here  the  wind,  shaggy  with  spume,  hurled 
them  together.  Daunt  threw  an  arm  about  her, 
clinging  with  the  other  hand  to  the  wooden  railing. 
Her  hair  was  a  reddish  swirl  across  his  shoulder  and 
her  breath,  panting  against  his  throat,  ridged  his 
skin  with  a  creeping  delight.  The  rocks  beneath 
them,  through  whose  fissures  tongues  of  water  ran 
screaming,  was  the  color  of  raspberries  and  tawny 
with  seaweed.  There  was  only  a  weird,  yellow 
half-light,  through  which  the  gale  howled  and  scuf- 
fled, like  dragons  fighting.  A  slather  of  wave  licked 
the  palsied  framework. 

He  bent  and  shouted  into  her  ear.  All  she  caught 
was :  "Must — cave — next  lull — " 

256 


THE  ISLAND  OF  ENCHANTMENT 

She  nodded  her  head  and  her  lips  smiled  at  him 
through  the  confused  obscurity.  A  thrill  swept  her 
like  silver  rain.  Pulse  on  pulse,  an  emotion  like  fire 
and  snow  in  one  thrilled  and  chilled  her.  She  closed 
her  eyes  with  a  wild  longing  that  the  wind  might 
last  for  ever,  that  that  moment,  like  the  ecstasy  of  an 
opium  dream,  might  draw  itself  out  to  infinite 
length.  Slowly  she  felt  the  breath  of  the  tempest 
ebb  about  them,  then  suddenly  felt  herself  lifted 
from  her  feet,  and  her  eyes  opened  into  Daunt's. 
Her  cheek  lay  against  his  breast,  as  it  had  done  in 
that  short  moment  in  the  Embassy  garden.  She 
could  feel  his  heart  bound  under  the  rough  tweed. 
Once  more  the  wind  caught  them,  but  he  staggered 
through  it,  and  into  the  high,  rock  entrance  of  the 
cave. 

Inside  its  dripping  rim  the  sudden  cessation  of  the 
wind  seemed  almost  uncanny,  and  the  boom  of  the 
surf  was  a  dull  thunderous  roar.  He  set  her  on  her 
feet  on  the  damp  rock  and  laughed  wildly. 

"Do  you  realize,"  she  said,  "that  we  have  trans- 
gressed the  most  sacred  tenet  of  Ben-ten  by  coming 
here  together?  We  are  doomed  to  misunderstand- 
ing!" 

"Now  that  I  recollect,  that  applies  only  to  lovers," 
he  answered.  "Then  we — " 

"Are  quite  safe,"  she  quickly  finished  for  him. 
"Come,  I  want  to  see  the  shrine.  We  must  find  a 
candle." 

257 


He  peered  into  the  gloomy  depths.  "I  think  I  see 
some  burning,"  he  said.  "We  will  explore." 

A  little  way  inside  they  came  to  a  small  well,  with 
a  dipper  and  a  rack  of  thin  blue-and-white  towels  to 
cleanse  the  hands  of  worshipers.  On  a  square  pedestal 
stood  a  stone  Buddha,  curiously  incrusted  by  drip- 
pings from  the  roof.  Near  it  was  a  wooden  booth, 
its  front  hung  with  pendents  of  twisted  rice-straw 
and  strips  of  white  paper  folded  in  diagonal  notches. 
It  held  a  number  of  tiny  wooden  torii  strung  with 
lighted  candles,  above  each  of  which  was  nailed  a 
paper  prayer.  A  few  copper  coins  lay  scattered  be- 
neath them.  Daunt  thrust  two  of  the  candles  into 
wooden  holders  and  they  slowly  followed  the  nar- 
rowing fissure,  guttered  by  the  feet  of  centuries,  be- 
tween square  posts  bearing  carven  texts,  and  small 
images,  coated  with  the  spermy  droppings  from  in- 
numerable candles. 

She  held  up  her  winking  light  toward  his  face. 
"What  a  desperate  absorption !"  she  said  laughingly. 
"You  haven't  said  a  thing  for  five  minutes." 

"I'm  thinking  we  had  better  explain  at  once  to 
Ben-ten  that  we're  not  lovers.  Otherwise  we  may 
get  the  penalty.  Perhaps  we'd  better  just  tell  her 
it  was  an  accident,  and  let  it  go  at  that?  What  do 
you  think?" 

"That  might  be  the  simplest." 

"All  right  then,  I'll  say  'Ben-ten,  dear,  she  wanted 
to  come  alone;  she  really  did!  We  didn't  intend  it 

258 


THE  ISLAND  OF  ENCHANTMENT 

at  all.  So  be  a  nice,  gracious  goddess  and  don't 
make  her  quarrel  with  me !' ' 

"What  do  you  suppose  she  will  answer?" 

"She  will  say :  'Young  man,  in  the  same  circum- 
stances, I  should  have  done  exactly  the  same  my- 
self.' " 

The  passage  had  grown  so  low  that  they  had  to 
bend  their  heads,  then  all  at  once  it  widened  into  a 
concave  chamber.  The  cannonading  of  the  wind 
rumbled  fainter  and  fainter.  He  took  her  hand  and 
drew  her  forward.  "There  is  Ben-ten,"  he  said. 

The  Goddess  of  Love  sat  in  a  barred  cleft  of  the 
rock,  enshrined  in  a  dull,  gold  silence.  Beads  of 
moisture  spangled  her  robe,  glistening  like  brilliants 
through  the  mossy  darkness.  "Poor  deity!"  said 
Barbara.  "To  have  to  live  for  ever  in  a  sea-cavern ! 
It's  a  clammy  idea,  isn't  it?" 

"That's—"  He  paused.  "I  could  make  a  terrible 
pun,  but  I  won't." 

"One  shouldn't  joke  about  love,"  she  said. 

"Have  you  discovered  that  too?" 

She  gazed  at  him  strangely,  without  answering. 
In  the  wan  light  his  face  looked  pale.  Her  unre- 
sisting fingers  still  lay  in  his ;  he  felt  their  touch  like 
a  breath  of  fire  through  all  his  veins.  Her  eyes 
sparkled  back  the  eery  witch-glow  of  the  candle- 
flames.  "You  are  a  green-golden  gnome-girl!"  he 
said  unsteadily.  "And  I  am  under  a  spell." 

"Yes,  yes,"  she  said.  "I  am  Rumptydudget's 
259 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

daughter!  I  have  only  to  wave  my  candlestick — 
so! — to  turn  you  into  a  stalagmite!" 

She  suited  the  action  to  the  word — and  dropped 
her  candle,  which  was  instantly  extinguished  on  the 
damp  floor.  Bending  forward  to  retrieve  it,  Daunt 
slipped.  The  arm  he  instinctively  threw  out  to  save 
himself  struck  the  wall  and  his  own  candle  flew  from 
its  socket.  As  he  regained  his  footing,  confused  by 
the  blank,  enfolding  darkness,  he  stumbled  against 
Barbara,  and  his  face  brushed  hers.  In  another 
instant  the  touch  had  thrilled  into  a  kiss. 

A  moment  she  lay  in  his  arms,  passive,  panting, 
her  unkissed  mouth  stinging  with  the  burn  of  his 
lips.  The  world  was  a  dense  blackness,  shot  with 
fire  and  full  of  pealing  bells,  and  the  beating  of  her 
heart  was  a  great  wave  of  sound  that  throbbed  like 
the  iron-shod  fury  of  the  seas. 

"I  love  you,  Barbara!"  he  said  simply.  "I  love 
you!" 

The  stammering  utterance  pierced  the  swift,  con- 
fused sweetness  of  that  first  kiss  like  a  lance  of  des- 
perate gladness.  Through  the  tumbling  passion  of 
the  words  he  poured  into  her  heart,  she  could  feel 
his  hands  touching  her  face,  her  throat,  her  loosened 
hair. 

"Barbara!  Listen,  dear!  I  must  say  it!  It's 
stronger  than  I  am — no,  don't  push  me  away !  Love 
me !  You  must  love  me ! 

With  her  arms  on  his  breast,  she  had  made  a 
260 


THE  ISLAND  OF  ENCHANTMENT 

movement   to   release  herself.      "We   are   mad,   I 
think !"  she  breathed. 

"Then  may  we  never  be  sane!'' 

"I — you  have  known  me  only  two  days! 
What—" 

"Ah,  no!  I've  known  you  all  these  years  and 
have  been  loving  you  without  really  knowing  it.  I 
made  a  woman  out  of  my  own  fancy,  that  I  dreamed 
alive.  In  the  long  winter  evenings  when  I  worked 
at  my  models  in  the  little  house  in  Aoyama,  I  used 
to  see  her  face  in  my  driftwood  blaze  and  talk  to 
her.  I  called  her  my  'Lady  of  the  Many-Colored 
Fires.'  I  never  thought  she  really  existed,  but  that 
first  night  in  the  Embassy  garden  I  knew  that  my 
dream-woman  was  you ! — you,  Barbara !" 

Her  hands  pushed  him  from  her  no  more.  They 
fell  to  trembling  on  his  breast.  In  the  dense,  salty 
obscurity,  she  turned  her  head  sharply,  to  feel  again 
his  lips  on  hers,  her  own  molding  to  his  kiss.  She 
drooped,  swaying,  stunned,  breathless. 

"Barbara,  I  love  you!" 

"No — not  again.    Light — the  candle." 

"Just  a  moment  longer — here  in  the  dark,  with 
Ben-ten.  It's  fate,  darling!  Why  should  I  have 
been  in  Japan  and  not  in  Persia  when  you  came? 
Why  did  I  happen  to  be  there  in  the  garden  that 
night,  at  that  particular  moment  ?  Why,  it  was  the 
purest  accident  that  I  came  here  to-day!  No — not 
accident.  It  was  kismet !  Barbara !" 

261 


"Make— a  light.     I— beg  you!" 

His  lips  were  murmuring  against  her  cheek.  "Say 
'I  love  you,'  too!" 

"I — can  not.  You  .  .  .  you  would  hold  me 
cheap  ...  I  would  be — I  am!  .  .  .  What? 
Yes,  it  was  a  tulip  tree.  I  was  sixteen.  .  .  .  Oh, 
you  couldn't  have — why,  you'd  forgotten  the  whole 
thing!  You  had,  you  had!  .  .  .  Don't  hold  me. 
.  .  .  No,  I  don't  care  what  you  think!  .  .  . 
Yes,  I  do  care!  .  .  .  Yes,  I — I  .  .  .  This  is 
perfectly  shameless!  .  .  .  Dark?  That  makes  it 
all  the  worse.  What  will  you  .  .  .  No,  no !  You 
must  not  kiss  me  again !  We  must  go  back ! — I  will 
go  back.  ..." 

She  freed  herself,  and  he  fumbled  for  his  fallen 
candle.  He  struck  a  match.  The  sputtering  blue 
flame  lit  her  white,  languorous  face,  her  fallen  hair, 
her  heaving  breast.  It  went  out.  He  struck  another 
and  the  wick  blazed  up. 

"Look  at  me,  dear!"  he  said.  "Tell  me  in  the 
light.  Will  you  marry  me?" 

"I  can  not  answer — now." 

"Why?    Don't  you  love  me?" 

"I — in  so  short  a  time,  how  could  I?  Let  us  go 
now.  I  don't  know  myself — nor — nor  you !" 

She  was  trembling,  and  he  noted  it  with  a  pang 
of  compunction. 

"To-morrow,  sweetheart  ?  Will  you  give  me  my 
answer  then  ?" 

262 


THE  ISLAND  OF  ENCHANTMENT 

"Yes !"    It  was  almost  inaudible. 

"At  the  Foreign  Minister's  ball  to-morrow  night? 
I'll  come  to  you  there,  dearest.  I — " 

He  stopped.  She  had  caught  her  hand  to  her 
throat  with  a  wild  gesture.  "Ben-ten !  She — she  is 
frowning  at  us !  There — look  there !" 

"My  poor  darling !"  he  said.  "You  are  nervous. 
See,  it  was  only  the  shadow!  I  ought  not  to  have 
brought  you  into  this  dismal  hole!  You  are  posi- 
tively shivering." 

"Let  us  hurry,"  she  said,  and  they  went  quickly 
into  the  wanner  air  and  light  of  the  entrance. 

The  squall  had  passed  with  the  fateful  swiftness 
of  its  coming.  The  waves  still  gurgled  and  tumbled, 
but  the  fury  of  the  wind  was  over.  The  murk  light 
had  lifted,  showing  the  wet  sky  a  patchy  drab,  which 
again  was  beginning  to  show  glimpses  of  golden 
hue. 

They  walked  back  to  Haru  at  the  tea-house,  be- 
neath the  wild,  poignant  beauty  of  disheveled  cryp- 
tomeria,  echoing  once  more  the  eternal  song  of  the 
semi — along  paths  strewn  with  drenched  petals  and 
sweet  with  the  moist  scents  of  sodden  leaves — then 
together,  down  the  steep,  templed  hill  and  across 
the  planked  walk  to  the  mainland,  where  a  trolley 
buzzed  through  the  springing  rice-fields,  musical 
now  with  the  me  kayui — me  kayui  of  the  frogs. 
Daunt  accompanied  them  to  the  through  line  of  the 

263 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

railway.  From  there  he  was  to  return  to  Kamakura 
for  the  answer  to  his  letter. 

The  sun  was  setting  when  the  Tokyo  express 
pulled  into  the  station.  As  Haru  disappeared  into 
the  compartment,  Daunt  took  Barbara's  hand  to  help 
her  to  the  platform.  There  had  been  no  other  first- 
class  passengers  to  embark  and  the  forward  end  of 
the  asphalt  was  deserted.  Her  lovely,  flushed  face 
was  turned  toward  him,  and  there  in  the  dusk  of  the 
station,  he  bent  swiftly  and  kissed  her  once  more  on 
the  lips. 

"Dearest,  dearest!''  he  said  behind  his  teeth,  and 
turned  quickly  a\vay. 

In  the  car,  as  the  train  fled  through  the  glory  of 
the  sunset,  Barbara  closed  her  eyes,  the  longer  to 
keep  the  impression  of  that  eager  gaze:  the  lithe, 
muscular  poise  of  the  strong  frame,  the  parted  lips, 
the  brown  hair  curling  under  the  peak  of  the  cloth 
cap.  She  tried  to  imagine  him  on  his  backward 
journey.  Now  the  trolley  had  passed  the  rice-fields, 
no\v  he  was  striding  along  the  shore  road  toward 
Kamakura,  where  the  great  bronze  Buddha  was  lift- 
ing its  face  of  dreamless  calm.  Now,  perhaps,  he 
was  turning  back  toward  the  deepening  blur  of  the 
green  island.  She  shivered  a  little  as  she  remem- 
bered the  frown  that  had  seemed  to  rest  on  the  stony 
countenance  of  Ben-ten  in  her  cave. 

Her  thought  drifted  into  to-morrow,  when  she 
was  to  give  him  her  answer.  Ah,  she  knew  what 

264 


THE  ISLAND  OF  ENCHANTMENT 

that  answer  would  be !  She  thought  of  the  telegram 
of  the  night  before,  which  she  had  read  in  the 
candle-lighted  street!  To-morrow  Ware  also  was 
coming — for  an  answer!  She  knew  what  that 
would  be,  too.  She  felt  a  sudden  pity  for  him.  Yet 
she  knew  now — what  wisdom  she  had  gained  in 
these  two  swift  days! — that  his  was  not  the  love 
that  most  deserved  it.  Daunt's  parting  kiss  clung 
to  her  lips  like  a  living  flower.  The  hand  he  had 
clasped  still  burned  to  his  touch;  she  lifted  it  and 
held  it  against  her  hot  face,  while  the  darkening 
carriage  seemed  to  fill  with  the  dank  smell  of  salty 
wind  and  seaweed,  mingled  with  his  voice : 
"Barbara,  I  love  you ! — Dearest !  Dearest !" 

She  thought  the  gesture  unseen,  unguessed  by 
any  one.  But  in  the  forward  car,  beyond  the  glass 
vestibule  door,  which  to  her  was  only  a  trembling 
mirror,  a  man  sat  watching  with  burning  eyes.  He 
had  been  gazing  through  the  window  when  the 
train  stopped,  had  risen  to  his  feet  with  instant 
recognition — to  shrink  back  into  his  seat,  his  fingers 
clenched,  his  bitten  lip  indrawn,  and  a  pallor  on  his 
face. 

It  was  Austen  Ware,  and  he  had  seen  that  kiss. 


265 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE   COMING   OF   AUSTEN    WARE 

DUSK  purpled  over  the  rice-fields  as  the  train 
sped  on.  Still  the  man  who  had  witnessed 
that  farewell  sat  crouched  in  his  seat  in  the 
forward  car,  stirless  and  pallid. 

From  boyhood  Austen  Ware  had  trod  a  calculate 
path.  Judicious,  masterful,  possessed,  he  had  gone 
through  life  with  none  of  the  temptations  that  had 
lain  in  wait  for  his  younger  brother  Phil.  These 
traits  were  linked  to  a  certain  incapacity  for  bad 
luck  and  an  unwearying  tenaciousness  of  purpose. 
Seldom  had  any  one  seen  his  face  change  color,  had 
seldom  seen  his  poise  of  glacial  complacency  shaken. 

To-night,  however,  the  oil  lamps  which  glowed 
dully  in  the  ceiling  of  the  carriage  threw  their  faint 
light  on  a  face  torn  with  passion.  Barbara's  beauty, 
whose  perfect  indifference  no  touch  of  sentimental 
passion  had  devitalized,  had,  from  the  first,  aroused 
Ware's  stubborn  sense  of  conquest.  He  had  been 
too  wise  to  make  missteps — had  put  ardor  into  the 
background,  while  surrounding  her  with  tactful  and 
graceful  observances  which  unconsciously  usurped 
a  large  place  in  her  thought.  In  the  end  he  had 

266 


THE  COMING  OF  AUSTEN  WARE 

broken  down  an  instinctive  disinclination  and  con- 
verted it  into  liking. 

But  this  was  all.  For  the  rest  he  had  perforce 
been  content  to  wait.  Thus  matters  had  stood  when 
they  parted  a  few  months  ago.  He  recalled  the  day 
he  had  sailed  for  Suez.  Looking  back  across  the 
widening  water,  he  had  conceived  then  no  possibility 
of  ultimate  failure.  "How  beautiful  she  is!"  he  had 
said  to  himself.  "She  will  marry  me.  She  does 
not  love  me,  but  she  cares  for  no  other  man.  She 
will  marry  me  in  Japan."  There  had  been  nobody 
else  then! 

As  he  peered  out  into  the  glooming  dusk  all  kinds 
of  thoughts  raced  through  his  mind.  Who  was  the 
man?  Was  this  the  resurrection  of  an  old  "affair" 
that  he  had  never  guessed?  No,  when  he  left  her, 
Barbara  had  been  fancy  free!  It  was  either  a 
"steamer  acquaintance,"  or  one  come  to  quick  frui- 
tion on  a  romantic  soil.  He  took  out  a  cigar-case 
and  struck  a  match  with  shaking  fingers.  Had  it 
even  come  to  clandestine  rendezvous?  She  had  gone 
one  way,  the  man  another !  A  whirl  of  rage  seized 
him :  the  slender  metal  snapped  short  off  in  the 
fierce  wrench  of  his  fingers.  He  thrust  the  broken 
case  into  his  pocket  with  a  muttered  curse  that  sat 
strangely  on  his  fastidious  tongue. 

Gradually,  out  of  the  wrack  emerged  his  domi- 
nant impulse,  caution.  He  had  many  things  to 
learn ;  he  must  find  out  how  the  land  lay.  He  must 

267 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

move  slowly,  reestablish  the  old,  easy,  informal 
footing.  Above  all  he  must  lay  himself  open  to  no 
chance  of  a  definite  refusal.  A  plan  began  to  take 
shape.  His  telegram  had  told  her  he  would  arrive 
in  Tokyo  next  day.  Meanwhile  he  would  find  out 
what  Phil  knew. 

He  left  the  train  at  Yokohama  under  cover  of  the 
crowd.  In  a  half-hour  he  was  aboard  his  yacht. 
Two  hours  later  he  sat  down  to  order  his  dinner  on 
the  terrace  of  the  hotel,  cool,  unruffled,  immaculately 
groomed.  The  place  was  brightly  barred  with  the 
light  from  the  tall  dining-room  windows,  and  the 
small,  round  tables  glowed  with  andons  whose  can- 
dle-light shone  on  men's  conventional  black-and- 
white,  and  women's  fluttering  gowns.  There  was 
no  wind — only  the  long,  slow  breath  of  the  bay  that 
seemed  sluggish  with  the  scents  of  the  tropical  even- 
ing. A  hundred  yards  from  the  hotel  front  great 
floating  wharves  had  been  built  out  into  the  water. 
They  were  gaily  trimmed  with  bunting  and  electric 
lights  in  geometrical  designs.  A  series  of  arches 
flanked  them,  and  these  were  covered  with  twigs  of 
ground  pine.  Ware  had  guessed  these  decorations 
were  for  the  European  Squadron  of  Dreadnaughts, 
of  whose  arrival  to-day's  newspapers  had  been  full. 

As  he  looked  over  the  menu,  a  man  sitting  near-by 
rose  and  came  to  him  with  outstretched  hand.  He 
was  Commander  DeKay,  a  naval  attache  whom 
Ware  had  known  in  Europe.  They  had  met  again, 

268 


THE  COMING  OF  AUSTEN  WARE 

a  few  days  since,  at  Kyoto.    He  hospitably  insisted 
on  the  other's  joining  his  own  party  of  five. 

Ware  was  not  gregarious,  and  to-night  was  in  a 
sullen  mood.  But,  with  his  habitual  policy,  he  thrust 
this  beneath  the  surface  and  in  another  moment  was 
bowing  to  the  introductions :  Baroness  Stroloff,  her 
sister,  a  chic  young  matron  whose  natural  habitat 
seemed  to  be  Paris;  the  ubiquitous  and  popular 
Count  Voynich,  and  a  statuesque  American  girl, 
whose  name  Ware  recognized  as  that  of  a  clever 
painter  of  Japanese  children.  He  looked  well  in 
evening  dress,  and  his  dark  beard,  thick  curling 
pompadour  and  handsome  eyes  added  a  something 
of  distinction  to  a  well-set  figure. 

"So  you  have  just  arrived,  Mr.  Ware?"  the  Bar- 
oness said.  "I  hope  you're  not  one  of  those  terrible 
two-days-in-Japan  tourists  who  spoil  all  our  prices 
for  us." 

"I  expect  to  stay  a  month  or  more,"  he  said. 
"And  as  for  prices,  I  shall  put  up  as  good  a  battle 
as  I  can." 

"You  know,"  said  the  artist,  with  an  air  of  im- 
parting confidential  information,  "everybody  is 
scheduled  in  Tokyo.  If  you  belong  to  an  Embassy 
you  have  to  pay  just  so  much  more  for  everything. 
In  the  Embassies,  'number-one-man'  pays  more  than 
'number-two-man/  and  so  on  down.  You  and  I  are 
lucky,  Mr.  Ware.  We  are  not  on  the  list,  and  can 
fight  it  out  on  its  merits." 

269 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"Belonging  to  the  rankless  file  has  its  advantages 
in  Japan,  then." 

"Not  at  official  dinners,  I  assure  you,"  interposed 
the  Baroness'  sister  with  a  shrug.  "It  means  the 
bottom  of  the  table,  and  sitting  next  below  the  same 
student-interpreter  nine  times  in  the  season.  I  have 
discovered  that  I  rank  with,  but  not  above,  the 
dentist." 

"You  tempt  me  to  enter  the  service — in  the  lowest 
grade,"  said  Ware,  and  the  Baroness  laughed  and 
shook  her  fan  at  him  reprovingly. 

The  sky  above  their  heads  was  pricked  out  with 
pale  stars,  like  cat's-eye  pins  in  a  greenish-violet 
tapestry.  Up  and  down  the  roadway  went  shim- 
mering rick'sha,  and  Japanese  couples  in  light  ki- 
mono strolled  along  the  bay's  edge,  under  the  bent 
pines,  their  low  voices  mingled  with  the  soft  lapping 
of  the  tide.  Now  and  then  a  bicycle  would  pass 
swiftly,  bare  sandaled  feet  chasing  its  pedals,  and 
kimono  sleeves  flapping  like  great  bats'-wings  from 
its  handle-bars ;  or  a  flanneled  English  figure  would 
stride  along,  with  pipe  and  racquet,  from  late  tennis 
at  the  recreation-ground.  From  the  corner  came 
the  cries  of  romping  children  and  the  tapping  staff 
and  double  flute-note  of  a  blind  masseur. 

The  talk  flew  briskly  hither  and  thither,  skim- 
ming the  froth  of  the  capital's  causerie :  recent  addi- 
tions to  the  official  set,  the  splendid  new  ball-room  at 
the  German  Embassy,  and  the  increasing  importance 

270 


THE  COMING  OF  AUSTEN  WARE 

of  Tokyo  as  a  diplomatic  center — the  coming  Im- 
perial "Cherry- Viewing  Garden- Party,"  and  the  an- 
nual Palace  duck-hunt  at  the  Shin-Hama  preserve, 
where  the  game  is  caught,  like  butterflies,  in  scoop- 
nets — the  new  ceremonial  for  Imperial  audiences — 
whether  a  stabbing  affray  between  two  Legation 
bettos  would  end  fatally,  and  whether  the  Turkish 
Minister's  gold  dinner  service  was  solid — and  a  little 
scandalous  surmise  regarding  the  newest  continental 
widow  whose  stay  in  Japan  had  been  long  and  her 
dinners  anything  but  exclusive — a  rumored  engage- 
ment, and — at  last! — the  arrival  of  the  new  beauty 
at  the  American  Embassy. 

"A  real  one!"  commented  Voynich,  screwing  his 
eye-glass  in  more  tightly.  "And  that  means  some- 
thing in  the  tourist  season." 

Ware's  fingers  flattened  on  the  stem  of  his  glass 
of  yellow  chartreuse  as  the  artist  said :  "We  are  in 
the  throes  of  a  new  sensation  at  present,  Mr.  Ware ; 
a  case  of  love  at  first  sight.  It's  really  a  lot  rarer 
than  the  novelists  make  out,  you  know!  We  are 
all  tremendously  interested." 

"But  he  knows  her,"  said  Voynich.  "The  other 
evening  in  Tokyo,  Mr.  Ware,  Miss  Fairfax  men- 
tioned having  met  you.  She  is  from  Virginia,  I 
think." 

Ware  bowed.  "She  is  very  good  to  remember 
me,"  he  said.  "And  so  Miss  Fairfax  has  met  her 
fate  in  Japan?" 

271 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"Well,  rather !"  said  the  artist.  "I  hear  betting  is 
even  that  she'll  accept  him  inside  a  fortnight." 

Ware  sipped  his  liqueur  with  a  tinge  of  relief. 
Evidently  the  world  of  Tokyo  had  not  yet  discov- 
ered that  the  new  arrival's  first  name  was  that  of 
his  yacht. 

"Daunt  doesn't  play  according  to  Hoyle,"  grum- 
bled Voynich.  "She's  a  guest  of  his  own  chief  and 
he  ought  to  give  the  others  half  a  chance.  He  lives 
in  the  Embassy  Compound,  too,  confound  him !  He 
monopolized  her  outrageously  at  the  Review  the 
other  day !  He's  an  American  'trust.'  I  shall  chal- 
lenge him." 

The  voice  of  DeKay  broke  in : 

"Coppery  hair  and  pansy-brown  eyes,  a  skin  like 
a  snowdrift  caught  blushing,  and  a  mouth  like  the 
smile  of  a  red  flower!  A  girl  that  Romney  might 
have  loved,  slim  and  young  and  thoroughbred — 
there  you  have  the  capital  sentence  of  the  Secretary 
of  the  American  Embassy !" 

Down  the  middle  of  the  street  came  running  a 
boy,  bare-legged,  bareheaded  and  scantily  clad.  A 
bunch  of  jangling  bells  was  tied  to  his  girdle,  and 
his  hands  were  full  of  what  looked  like  small  blue 
hand-bills.  DeKay  got  up  quickly.  "There's  an 
evening  extra,"  he  said.  "It's  the  Kokumin  Shim- 
bun."  He  bolted  down  the  steps,  stopped  the  runner 
and  returned  with  one  of  the  blue  sheets. 

He  scanned  it  rapidly — he  was  a  student  of  the 
272 


THE  COMING  OF  AUSTEN  WARE 

vernacular.  "Nothing  especial,"  he  informed  them. 
"Prices  in  Wall  Street  are  smashing  the  records. 
That  looks  like  a  clear  political  horizon,  in  spite 
of  what  the  wiseacres  have  been  saying.  This  visit 
of  the  Squadron  will  prove  a  useful  poultice,  no 
doubt,  to  reduce  international  inflammation — its 
officers  being  shown  the  sights  of  the  capital,  and 
the  celebrations  to  come  off  as  per  schedule,  in- 
cluding the  Naval  Minister's  ball  to-morrow  night. 
By  the  way,"  he  added,  turning  to  Ware,  "I  ar- 
ranged for  an  invitation  for  you.  It's  probably  at 
the  hotel  in  Tokyo  now,  awaiting  your  arrival." 

A  little  gleam  came  to  Ware's  eyes.  The  threads 
were  in  his  hands,  and  this  suited  his  plan. 
"Thanks,"  he  said ;  "you're  very  kind,  Commander. 
I  shall  see  the  subject  of  your  rhapsody,  then,  before 
the  Judge  puts  on  his  black  cap." 

"Ah,  but  you'll  have  no  chance,"  laughed  the 
Baroness.  "Trust  a  woman's  eye." 

"Unless  his  aeroplane  takes  a  tumble,"  said  the 
American  girl  reflectively.  "There's  always  a 
chance  for  a  tragedy  there !" 

They  rose  to  depart.  "We  are  actually  going  to 
the  opera,  Mr.  Ware,"  said  the  Baroness;  "the 
'Popular  Hardman  Comic  Opera  Company/  if  you 
please,  'with  Miss  Cissy  Clifford.'  Doesn't  that 
sound  like  Broadway?  It  comes  over  every  season 
from  Shanghai,  and  it's  our  regular  spring  dissipa- 
tion. You'd  not  be  tempted  to  join  us,  I  suppose?" 

273 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

He  bowed  over  her  hand.  "It  is  my  misfortune 
to  have  an  engagement  here." 

"Well,  then — jusqu'au  bal.    Good  night." 

Ware  drank  his  black  coffee  alone  on  the  terrace. 
Daunt — a  Secretary  of  Embassy!  A  rival  less  ex- 
perienced than  he,  full  of  youth's  enthusiasms — a 
young  Romeo,  wooing  from  the  garden  of  official- 
dom! It  had  been  a  handful  of  days  against  his 
own  round  year ;  a  few  meetings,  at  most,  to  offset 
his  long  and  constant  plan!  And,  as  a  result,  the 
thing  he  had  seen  through  the  car  window.  He 
shut  his  teeth.  He  would  have  taken  bitter  toll  of 
that  kiss! 

As  he  lit  his  cigar,  one  of  the  hotel  boys  came  to 
him.  On  his  arrival  Ware  had  sent  him  to  Phil's 
bungalow  on  the  Bluff  with  a  note. 

"Ware-Saw  not  at  home,"  he  said. 

"Where  is  he?" 

"No  Yokohama  now.  He  go  Tokyo  yesterday. 
Stay  one  week." 

"Is  he  at  the  hotel  there?" 

"Boy  say  no  hotel.    House  have  got." 

"What  is  the  address?" 

"Boy  no  must  tell.  He  say  letter  send  Tokyo 
Club." 

Ware's  composure  had  been  fiercely  shaken  that 
night  and  this  obstacle  in  his  path  pricked  him  to  the 
point  of  exasperation.  With  impatience  he  threw 

274 


THE  COMING  OF  AUSTEN  WARE 

away  his  cigar  and  walked  out  through  the  cool, 
brilliant  evening. 

But  the  glittering  pageant  of  the  prismatic  streets 
inspired  only  a  rising  irritation.  When  a  pedes- 
trian jostled  him,  the  elaborate  bow  of  apology 
and  ceremonial  drawing-in  of  breath  met  with  only 
a  morose  stare.  He  left  the  Bund  and  threaded  the 
Honcho-dori — the  "Main  Street" — striving  to  curb 
his  mood.  Midway  of  its  length  was  a  jeweler's 
shop-window  with  a  beautiful  display  of  jewel-jade. 
In  it  was  hung  a  sign  which  he  read  with  a  wry 
smile :  "English  Spoken :  American  Understood." 
Ware  entered  and  handed  the  Japanese  clerk  his 
broken  cigar-case. 

The  counter  was  spread  with  irregular  pieces  of 
the  green  and  pink  stone,  wrought  with  all  the  la- 
borious cunning  of  the  oriental  lapidary.  At  his 
elbow  a  clerk  was  packing  a  jade  bracelet  into  a 
tiny  box  for  delivery.  He  wrapped  and  addressed 
it  painstakingly  with  a  little  brush — 

Esquire  Philp  Weare, 

Kasumiga-tani  Cho,  36. 
Tokyo. 

In  the  street  Ware  smiled  grimly  as  he  entered  the 
address  in  his  note-book.  He  had  always  believed 
in  his  luck.  To-morrow  he  would  find  Phil,  and 
gain  further  enlightenment — incidentally  on  the 
matter  of  jade  bracelets!  His  mouth  set  in  con- 
temptuous lines  as  he  walked  back  to  the  hotel. 

275 


CHAPTER   XXXII 

THE   WOMAN   OF   SOREK 

AND  as  to  the  foreigner  named  Philip  Ware, 
that  is  all  you  know  ?" 

"That  is  all,  Ishida-Saw,"  Haru  answered. 

They  stood  in  the  cryptomeria  shadows  of  Rein- 
anzaka  Hill,  from  which  he  had  stepped  to  her  side 
as  she  came  from  the  Embassy  gate.  It  was  dark, 
for  the  moon  was  not  yet  risen,  and  the  evening  was 
very  still.  One  sleepy  semi  bubbled  in  the  foliage 
and  in  the  narrow  street  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  with 
its  glimmering  shoji,  she  could  hear  the  fairy  tinkle 
of  wind  bells  in  the  eaves. 

Such  an  ambush  by  her  lover,  unjustified,  would 
have  been  a  dire  affront  to  the  girl's  rigid  Japanese 
code  of  decorum.  That  he  had  seen  Phil  greet  her 
at  Mukojima  the  evening  before  had  shamed  her 
pride,  and  in  speaking  of  it  to-night  he  had  seemed 
at  first  to  lay  a  rude  finger  on  her  maiden  dignity. 
But  she  had  seen  in  an  instant  that  his  errand  was 
inspired  by  neither  anger  nor  jealousy.  He  had 
touched  at  once  her  instinct  of  the  momentous. 

Her  quick,  clever  brain  and  finely  attuned  percep- 
tion read  what  lay  beneath  his  questions.  The  great 

276 


THE  WOMAN  OF  SOREK 

European  expert  whom  Japan  herself  employed,  and 
the  young  foreigner  who  had  pursued  her — were 
they,  then,  objects  of  question  to  that  wonderful, 
many-sided  governmental  machine  which  was  lift- 
ing Japan  into  the  front  rank  of  modern  nations? 
Although  she  had  never  shared  the  disfavor  with 
which  her  father  viewed  her  lover's  duties,  she  had 
wondered  at  his  present  apparently  menial  position. 
To-night  she  was  gaining  a  quick  glimpse  beneath 
the  surface.  He  told  her  nothing  of  the  details 
which,  though  he  could  not  himself  have  built  a 
tangible  indictment  from  them,  had  one  by  one  clung 
together  into  a  sharp  suspicion  that  embraced  the 
two  men.  But  the  agitation  she  felt  in  his  words 
had  sent  a  quick  thrill  through  her,  had  tapped  that 
deep  racial  well  of  feeling,  the  Yawiato  Damashii, 
which  is  the  Japanese  birthright.  She  felt  a  sud- 
den passionate  wish  that  she,  though  a  woman, 
might  pour  herself  into  the  mighty  stream  of  effort 
— though  she  be  but  a  whirling  cherry-petal  in  the 
great  wind  of  her  nation's  destiny.  He  had  come 
to  her  for  any  shred  of  information  that  might  add 
to  his  knowledge  of  the  youth  who  was  now  Ber- 
sonin's  satellite.  But  she  had  been  able  to  tell  him 
nothing.  She  had  often  seen  the  huge  expert — his 
automobile  had  clanged  past  her  that  morning — but 
till  to-night  she  had  not  even  known  the  other's 
name  or  where  he  lived.  "That  is  all,  Ishida-SVw." 
It  hurt  her  to  say  these  words. 

277 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

She  bowed  to  his  ceremonious  farewell,  a  slim, 
misty  figure  that  stood  listening  to  his  rapid  foot- 
steps till  they  died  in  the  darkness.  She  walked 
up  the  dim  slope  with  lagging  pace.  The  steep  road, 
always  deserted  at  night,  had  no  sound  of  grating 
cart  or  whirring  rick'sha,  but  her  paper  lantern  was 
unlighted  and  no  song  greeted  the  crow  that  flapped 
his  grating  way  above  her  head.  She  was  thinking 
deeply. 

At  the  top  of  the  hill,  opposite  the  huge,  rivet- 
studded  gate  of  the  Princess'  compound,  lay  the  lane 
on  which  the  Chapel  stood.  An  evening  service  was 
in  progress  and  the  faint  sound  of  the  organ  was 
borne  to  her.  As  she  turned  into  the  darker  shade 
she  was  aware  of  two  pedestrians  coming  toward 
her, — of  a  voice  which  she  recognized  with  a  shiver 
of  apprehension.  The  sentry-box  by  the  great  gate 
stood  close  at  hand.  It  was  empty,  and  she  stepped 
into  it. 

Doctor  Befsonin  and  Phil  paused  at  the  turning, 
while  the  latter  lit  a  cigar  from  a  match  which  he 
struck  on  the  sentry-box.  Haru's  heart  was  in  her 
throat,  but  her  dark  kimono  blent  with  the  wood 
and  the  flash  that  showed  her  both  faces  blinded 
his  eyes. 

"See!"  said  the  doctor.  'A  mile  away,  from  the 
low-lying  darkness  of  Hibiya  Park,  a  stream  of  fire- 
works shot  to  the  zenith,  to  explode  silently  in  clus- 

278 


THE  WOMAN  OF  SOREK 

ters  of  colored  balls.  "The  first  rocket  in  honor  of 
the  Squadron!" 

"To-morrow  the  Admiral  has  an  Imperial  audi- 
ence," said  Phil,  "and  the  superior  officers  are  to  be 
decorated." 

"So!"  said  the  other  in  a  low,  malignant  voice. 
"And  I — who  have  designed  Japan's  turrets  and 
cheapened  her  arsenal  processes — I  may  not  wear 
the  Cordon  and  Star  of  the  Rising-Sun!"  In  the 
darkness  a  smile  of  malice  crossed  his  face.  "We 
shall  see  if  she  will  hold  her  head  so  high — then! 
Whether  war  follow  or  not,  it  will  damn  her  in  the 
eyes  of  the  nations !  She  will  not  recover  her  pres- 
tige in  twenty  years !" 

They  passed  on  down  the  dark  slope,  out  of  sight 
and  hearing  of  the  girl  crouched  in  a  corner  of  the 
sentry-box.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill,  Bersonin  said : 

"It  will  take  some  days  longer  to  finish  my  work, 
but  the  ships  will  stay  for  a  fortnight.  To-morrow 
night  I  will  mark  the  triangle  on  the  roof  of  the 
bungalow,  so  that  the  angle  of  the  tripod  will  be 
exact.  There  must  be  no  bungling.  You  can  go  by 
an  earlier  train,  so  we  shall  not  be  seen  together,  and 
I  shall  return  here  in  time  for  the  ball." 

There  was  a  fire  in  Hani's  bosom  as  she  went  on 
along  the  thorn-hedges.  She  had  heard  every  word, 
and  she  said  the  English  sentences  over  and  over 
to  herself  to  fix  them  in  her  mind.  What  they 
had  been  talking  of  was  the.  secret  that  lay  be- 

279 


neath  Ishida's  questions — for  an  instant  she  had  al- 
most touched  it.  A  feeling  of  deep  pride  rose  in 
her.  Japan  was  not  sleeping — it  watched!  And  in 
the  path  of  the  plotting  danger  stood  her  lover. 

These  two  men  hated  Japan!  War?  They  had 
used  the  word.  Japan  did  not  fear  war !  Had  not 
that  been  proven?  Her  heart  swelled.  But  the 
thing  they  were  planning  was  her  country's  endur- 
ing humiliation,  "whether  war  follow  or  not !"  She 
felt  a  sudden  deep  horror.  Could  such  plots  be  and 
their  God — her  God  now — not  blast  them  with  His 
thunder?  And  one  of  these  men  had  spoken  with 
her,  touched  her,  kissed  her!  She  struck  herself  re- 
peatedly and  hard  on  the  lips. 

All  at  once  she  shivered.  Might  it  be  that  in 
spite  of  all,  such  a  black  design  could  succeed  ? 

The  Chapel  was  brilliantly  lighted  and  the  rose- 
window  threw  beautiful  tints,  like  shawls  of  many- 
colored  gauze,  over  the  shrubbery.  She  entered  and 
slipped  into  a  seat  near  the  door,  burning  with  her 
thoughts.  The  first  evening  service  had  brought  a 
curious  crowd  and  the  place  was  nearly  filled.  She 
rose  for  the  singing  and  knelt  for  the  prayer  me- 
chanically, her  delicate  fingers  twisting  the  little 
white-enamel  cross  hanging  from  its  thin  gold  chain 
on  the  bosom  of  her  kimono.  Painful  imaginings 
were  running  through  her  mind.  The  lesson  was 
being  read:  it  was  from  the  Old  Testament,  the 
modern,  somewhat  colloquial  translation. 

280 


THE  WOMAN  OF  SOREK 

This-after,  Samson  a  Sorek  Valley  woman 
called  Delilah  did  love. 

Then  the  Princes  of  the  Philistines  the  wom- 
an-to  up-came,  saying : 

As  for  you,  by  sweet  discourse  prevail  that 
where  his  great  power  is  or  by  what  means 
overcoming,  to  bind  and  torture  him  we  may 
be  able  .  .  . 

It  seemed  to  her  suddenly  that  a  great  wind  filled 
all  the  Chapel  and  that  the  words  sat  on  it.  Slow- 
ly her  face  whitened  till  it  was  the  hue  of  death. 

She  might  find  out  the  secret ! 

And  Delilah  to  Samson  said:  where  your 
great  power  is  or  by  what  means  overcoming 
to  bind  and  torture  you  one  may  be  able,  this 
me  tell. 

She  began  to  tremble  in  every  limb.  She,  a  sam- 
urai's daughter?  She  thought  of  her  father,  aged 
and  broken,  grieving  that  he  had  had  no  son  in  the 
war.  She  had  been  but  a  useless  girl-child,  left  to 
plant  paper  prayers  at  the  cross-roads  for  the  brave 
men  who  longed  to  achieve  a  glorious  death.  If  she 
did  this  thing — would  it  not  be  for  Japan  ? 

And  he  at  last-to  his  mind  completely  opened. 

The  woman's  knees-upon  Samson  did  sleep 
and  she  called  a  man  who  of  his  head  the  seven 
locks  cut  off  ...  and  the  power  of  him 
was  lost. 

281 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

If  she  did,  would  it  avail  ?  She  remembered  Phil's 
eyes  on  her  face  the  day  on  the  sands  at  Kamakura 
— their  smouldering,  reckless  glow.  She  remem- 
bered the  bamboo  lane!  In  those  daredevil  kisses 
her  woman's  instinct  had  divined  the  force  of  the 
attraction  she  exercised  over  him — had  felt  it  with 
contempt  and  a  self-humiliation  that  burned  her  like 
an  acid.  To  use  that  for  her  purpose  ?  But  she  was 
a  Christian !  From  the  Christian  God's  "Thou  shah 
not"  there  was  no  appeal. 

She  remembered  suddenly  her  last  service  at  the 
Buddhist  temple  across  the  lane,  and  how  the  old 
priest  had  bade  her  a  gentle  farewell,  wishing  her 
peace  and  joy  in  her  new  religion,  and  saying  smil- 
ingly that  all  religions  were  augustly  good,  since 
they  pointed  the  same  way.  She  saw  the  nunnery, 
with  its  tall  clumps  of  yellow  dahlias  and  wild 
hydrangeas;  above  which  hung  gauzy  robes  that 
waved  like  gray  ghosts  escaping  from  the  mold  into 
the  sunshine.  She  saw  the  cherry-trees  touched  by 
the  golden  summer  light,  the  mossy  monuments  in 
the  burying-ground,  the  pigeons  fluttering  about  the 
lichened  pavement. 

The  audience  was  singing  now — the  Japanese  ver- 
sion of  Jesus,  Lover  of  My  Soul: 

JVaga  tamashii  wo 

Ai  suru  Yesu  yo, 
'Nami  iva  sakamaki, 

Kaze  fuki-arete* 
282 


THE  WOMAN  OF  SOREK 

She  could  no  longer  be  a  Christian  f 

But  the  old  gods  of  her  people  shining  from  their 
golden  altars — the  ancient  divinities  who  looked 
for  ever  down  above  the  sound  of  prayer — they 
would  smile  upon  her  I 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

THE    FLIGHT 

FOR  all  save  one,  sleep  came  early  that  evening 
to  the  house  in  the  Street-of-Prayer-to-the- 
Gods.    In  her  little  room  Haru  lay  as  stirless 
as  a  sleeping  flower.     There  was  no  sound  save  the 
hushed  accents  of  the  outer  night  that  penetrated 
the  wooden  amado. 

At  length  she  rose,  noiselessly  slid  the  paper  shoji, 
and  with  infinite  care,  inch  by  inch,  pushed  back  the 
shutters.  The  moon  had  risen  and  a  flood  of  moon- 
light came  into  the  room.  Stealthily  she  opened 
a  wall-closet  and  selected  her  best  and  gayest  robe — 
a  holiday  kimono  of  dim  green,  with  lotos  flowers, 
and  an  obi  of  cloth-of-gold,  with  chrysanthemums 
peeping  from  the  weave.  By  the  round  mirror  on 
her  low  dressing-cabinet,  she  redressed  the  coiled 
ebony  butterfly  of  her  hair,  and  set  a  red  flower 
in  it.  She  touched  her  face  with  the  soft  rice- 
powder,  and  added  a  tint  of  carmine  to  the  set  pale- 
ness of  her  cheeks.  She  wrapped  in  a  fnroshiki 
some  soberer  street  clothing,  toilet  articles,  and 
a  mauve  kimono  woven  with  silver  camelias,  set  the 

284 


THE  FLIGHT 

bundle  by  the  opened  amado  and  noiselessly  passed 
into  the  next  room. 

It  was  the  larger  living-apartment.  The  tiny  lamp 
which  burned  before  the  golden  shrine  of  Kwan-on 
on  the  Buddha-shelf  cast  a  wan  glimmer  over  the 
spotless  alcove,  and  threw  a  ghostly  light  on  her 
finery.  Through  the  thin  paper  shikiri  she  could 
hear  her  father's  deep  breathing,  and  in  the  room  in 
which  he  slept  a  little  clock  chimed  eleven.  She 
opened  the  door  of  the  shrine  and  stood  looking  at 
the  tablet  it  held — the  ihai  of  her  mother.  The 
kaimyo,  or  soul  name,  it  bore  signified  "Moon- 
Dawn-of -the- Mountain-of -Light-Dwelling- in- the- 
Mansion-of-Luminous-Perfume."  She  rubbed  her 
palms  softly  together  before  it  and  her  lips  moved 
silently.  From  the  golden  shadows  she  seemed 
suddenly  to  feel  her  mother's  hand  guiding  her 
childish  steps  to  that  place  of  morning  worship, 
to  see  that  loving  face,  as  she  remembered  it,  look- 
ing down  on  her  across  the  rim  of  years.  She 
bent  and  passed  her  hand  along  the  two  swords,  one 
long,  one  short,  that  rested  on  their  lacquered  rack 
beneath  the  shelf — it  was  her  farewell  to  her  father. 

She  had  left  no  message.  She  could  tell  no  one.  If 
she  succeeded,  she  would  have  done  her  part.  If  she 
failed — there  was  only  a  blank  darkness  in  that 
thought.  But  she  had  no  agitation  now — only  a  dull 
ache. 

In  her  own  room  she  took  a  book  from  a  drawer 
285 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

and  slipped  it  into  her  sleeve,  caught  up  the  furo- 
shiki,  stepped  noiselessly  to  the  outer  porch  and 
carefully  closed  the  amado  behind  her. 

She  walked  swiftly  back  to  the  empty  Chapel. 
The  great  glass  window  that  had  seemed  so  beauti- 
ful with  the  light  behind  it,  was  now  dark  and 
opaque  and  dead.  Only  the  cross  above  the  roof  in 
the  moonlight  looked  as  white  as  snow.  She  drew 
the  book  from  her  sleeve.  It  was  her  Bible,  with 
her  name  on  the  fly-leaf.  She  unhooked  the  gold 
chain  about  her  neck  and  slipped  off  the  little  enamel 
cross.  She  put  this  between  the  leaves  of  the  Bible 
and  laid  it  on  the  doorstep. 

A  half-hour  later  she  stood  before  a  wistaria- 
roofed  gate  in  Kasumiga-tani  Cho — the  "Street-of- 
the-Misty- Valley" — near  Aoyama  parade-ground. 
The  glass  lantern  above  it  threw  a  dim  light  on  a 
gravel  path  twisting  through  low  shrubbery.  Down 
the  street  she  could  hear  a  dozen  students  chanting 
the  marching  song  of  Hirose  Chusa,  the  young  war 
hero: 

"Though  the  body  die,  the  spirit  dies  not. 
He  who  wished  to  be  reborn 
Seven  times  into  this  world, 
For  the  sake  of  serving  his  country, 
For  the  sake  of  requiting  the  Imperial  Favor — 
Has  he  really  died?" 

Haru  opened  the  gate.  Cherry-petals  were  sifting 
286 


THE  FLIGHT 

down  like  rosy  snowflakes  over  the  scarlet  trem- 
bling of  nanten  bushes.  A  little  way  inside  was  a 
graceful  house  entrance  half-shaded  by  a  trailing 
vine.  The  amado  were  not  closed,  the  shoji  were 
brilliantly  lighted. 

With  a  little  sob  she  unfastened  the  golden  obi, 
rewound  and  tied  it  with  the  knot  in  front. 


287 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

ON   THE   KNEES   OF  DELILAH 

THE  room  where  Phil  sat  was  softly  bright 
with  andon,  through  whose  thin  paper  sides 
the  candle-light  filtered  tranquilly. 
It  had  been  furnished  in   a  plain,  half-foreign 
fashion;  a  book-rack  and  a  French  mahogany  desk 
sat  in  a  corner,  an  ormolu  clock  ticked  on  its  top, 
and  beside  it  was  a  lounge  piled  with  volumes  from 
the  shelves.   On  a  bracket  sat  three  small  carvings 
in  dark  wood,  replicas  of  the  famous  monkeys  of 
the  great  Jingoro  the  Left-Handed,   preserved  in 
lyeyasu  temple  at  Nikko.  With  their  paws  one  cov- 
ered his  eyes,  another  his  ears,  the  third  his  mouth, 
representing  the  "I  see  not — I  hear  not — I  tell  not" 
of  the  ancient  wisdom. 

The  place,  however,  to  which  these  had  given  a 
suggestion  of  quaint  and  extraordinary  art,  was  now 
touched  with  a  certain  tawdriness.  It  would  have 
affected  a  Japanese  almost  to  nausea.  The  severity 
of  beauty  of  its  etched  and  paneled  walls,  the  plain 
elegance  of  its  satinwood  fittings,  were  cheapened 
with  a  veneer  of  vulgarity.  A  row  of  picture  post- 
cards in  colors  was  pinned  on  the  wall — the  sort 

288 


ON  THE  KNEES  OF  DELILAH 

the  tourist  buys  for  ten  sen  on  the  Ginza,  too  highly 
tinted  and  with  much  meretricious  gilding — and  a 
photograph  hung  in  a  silver-gilt  frame  of  interlocked 
dragons.  It  showed  a  girl  in  abbreviated  skirts  and 
exaggerated  posture;  on  the  mount  was  printed: 
"Miss  Cissy  Clifford  in  Gay  Paree."  The  air  was 
full  of  the  sickly-sweetish  smell  of  Turkish  cigar- 
ettes. The  desk  was  a  confusion  of  pipes,  ivory 
nets'ke,  cigarette-boxes  and  what  not,  and  a  man's 
cloth  cap  and  a  gauntlet  were  tossed  in  a  corner, 
beside  an  open  gold-lacquer  box  heaped  with  gloves. 

Phil,  however,  felt  no  qualm.  The  room  fitted 
him  as  a  scabbard  fits  its  sword.  He  had  discarded 
his  heavier  outer  clothing  and  donned  a  loose,  wide- 
sleeved  robe  of  cool  silk,  tied  with  a  crimson  cord. 

"Give  me  the  whisky-and-soda,"  he  said  to  the 
grizzled  servant,  in  the  vernacular,  "and  I  shan't 
want  you  again  to-night." 

The  bottle  the  Japanese  left  at  his  elbow  was  be- 
coming Phil's  constant  comforter.  Alone  with  his 
thoughts,  he  fled  to  it  as  the  hashish  eater  to  his 
drug,  because  it  banished  his  dread  and  bolstered  the 
courage  that  he  longed  for.  To-night,  as  he  sat 
with  the  intoxication  creeping  like  dull  fire  in  his 
blood,  he  was  thinking  of  Haru,  with  her  soft 
smooth  skin,  her  perfect  neck,  her  lithe,  graceful 
limbs,  her  eyes  that  held  caught  laughter  like  moss 
in  amber. 

His  thought  broke  off.  He  had  heard  a  sound 
289 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

outside.  It  seemed  to  be  a  light  tapping  on  the  grill 
of  the  outer  door.  Could  it  be  Bersonin  ?  Had  any- 
thing gone  wrong?  He  went  hastily  into  the  ante- 
room and  opened  the  grill. 

For  an  instant  he  stared  unbelievingly  at  the  fig- 
ure standing  there,  the  gay  kimono,  the  rouged 
cheeks,  the  sparkling  eyes.  He  took  a  step  forward. 

"Hani!    Is  it  really  you,  little  girl?"  he  cried. 

She  laughed — a  high,  clear,  flute-like  note.  "Such 
an  astonish!"  she  said.  "You  not  know  my  mus? 
come  .  .  after  .  .  after  those  kiss?  Can  I 
not  to  come  in,  Phil-lip  ?" 

With  a  laugh  that  echoed  her  own — but  one  of 
ringing  triumph — he  caught  her  hand,  drew  her  into 
the  lighted  room  and  closed  the  shoji.  His  look 
flamed  over  her. 

"I  couldn't  believe  my  eyes!"  he  cried.  "I  don't 
half  believe  them  yet !  Why,  your  hands  are  as  cold 
as  ice.  We'll  have  a  drink,  eh !" 

He  went  into  an  outer  room,  came  back  with  a 
bottle  of  champagne  and  knocked  off  its  neck 
against  the  mantel. 

"Yes,  yes !"  she  said.  "My  mus'  drink — so  to  be 
gay,  Phil-lip !"  She  drank  the  bubbling  liquor  at  a 
draft.  "What  are  the  use  of  to  be  good  ?  Ne?" 

"You're  right,  little  girl!  The  pious  people  are 
the  dull  ones !"  He  came  to  her  unsteadily — he  had 
noticed  the  reversed  obi.  "So  you'll  train  with  me, 
eh?  Well,  we'll  show  them  a  trick  or  two!  How 

290 


ON  THE  KNEES  OF  DELILAH 

would  you  like  to  have  plenty  of  money,  Haru — as 
much  as  you  can  count  on  a  soroban?  Would  you 
think  a  lot  more  of  me  if  I  got  it  for  you  ?" 

"You  so — much  clever!"  she  laughed.  "No  all 
same  Japan  man.  He  ve-ree  stupid !  My  think  you 
mos'  bes'  clever  man  in  these  whole  wort',  to  goin' 
find  so  much  money — ne?" 

With  a  savage  elation  he  drew  her  close  in  his 
arms.  The  great  spiral  of  her  headdress  drooped 
under  his  caresses,  and  the  blue-black  hair  fell  all 
about  the  white  face. 


291 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

WHEN   A    WOMAN   DREAMS 

RIDING  with  Patricia  in  the  big  victoria  next 
day,  its  red-striped  runner  diving  ahead,  Bar- 
bara forgot  her  vague  wonder  at  Haru's  dis- 
appearance, as  she  felt  the  enchanted  mystery  of 
Tokyo  creep  further  into  her  heart.  They  threaded 
the  softly  dreaming  silence  of  the  willow-bordered 
moat  that  clasps  the  Imperial  grounds  with  a  girdle 
of  cloudy  emerald,  where  the  "Dragon  Pines"  of  the 
great  Shogun  I y emits  fling  their  craggy  masses  of 
olive-green  down  over  the  leaning  walls  to  kiss  the 
mirroring  water — past  many-roofed,  Tartar-like 
watch-towers,  cream-white  on  the  blue,  and  through 
little  parks  with  forests  of  thin  straight-boled  trees 
and  placid  lotos  ponds  seething  with  the  dagger-blue 
flashings  of  dragon-flies,  all  woven  together  into  a 
tapestry,  lovely,  remote,  fantastic — like  the  projec- 
tion of  some  dream-legend  whose  people  lived  a 
fairy  story  in  a  picture-book  world. 

On  this  oriental  background  continually  appeared 
quaint  touches  of  the  foreign  and  bizarre:  a  huge 
American  straw  hat,  much  befrilled  and  befeath- 
ered,  on  the  head  of  a  baby  strapped  to  its  mother's 

292 


WHEN  A  WOMAN  DREAMS 

back,  or  a  hideous  boa  of  chenille  like  bunched  cater- 
pillars marring  the  delicate  native  neckwear  of  an 
exquisite  kimono. 

On  the  slope  of  a  hill  they  came  on  a  motley 
crowd,  which  included  a  sprinkling  of  foreigners, 
gathered  before  the  entrance  of  a  temple  yard, 
where  a  rough,  improvised  amphitheater  had  been 
erected.  Patricia  called  to  the  driver,  and  he 
pulled  up. 

"Fire-walk,"  said  the  betto.    "Ontake  temple." 

From  their  elevated  seat  they  could  see  white- 
robed  and  barefooted  priests  waving  long-handled 
fans  and  wands  topped  with  shaggy  paper  tassels 
over  an  area  of  red-hot  cinders.  Presently  some  of 
them  strode  calmly  across  the  smoking  mass. 

"They  call  that  the  'Miracle  of  Kudan  Hill/  "  said 
Patricia.  "They  are  making  incantations  to  the  god 
of  water  to  come  and  drive  out  the  god  of  fire.  It's 
a  Shinto  rite." 

A  laugh  rose  from  the  spectators.  The  High 
Priest  was  inviting  the  foreigners  to  attempt  the 
ordeal. 

"Look!"  said  Patricia.  "There  is  the  man  who 
got  the  free  lecture  out  of  your  uncle  on  the  train — 
the  man  with  the  white  waistcoat  and  the  red  beard. 
And  there's  'Martha,'  too.  I  do  believe  she's  going 
to  try  it!" 

She  was.  Undeterred  by  the  misgivings  of  the 
rest,  the  lady  of  the  painted  muslin  calmly  divested 

293 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

herself  of  shoes  and  stockings  and  marched  across 
and  back  again.  "There!"  she  said  triumphantly. 
"I  said  I  would,  and  I  did!  It  may  be  a  miracle, 
but  my  feet  are  simply  frying!" 

The  carriage  rolled  on  across  a  section  of  busy 
trade.  From  a  side  street  came  the  brassy  blare  of 
a  phonograph. 

"What  a  baffling  combination  it  is !"  said  Barbara. 
"Last  night  some  of  those  people  were  at  Muko- 
jima,  listening  to  dead  little  drums  and  squealing 
fifes,  and  to-night  here  is  Damrosch  and  the  Inter- 
mezzo." 

"The  other  day  when  I  passed,"  said  Patricia,  "it 
was  Waltz  Me  Around  Again,  Willie,  and  forty 
children  were  prancing  to  it.  Martha's  husband  is 
'in'  phonographs,  by  the  way.  She  told  me  all  about 
it  at  the  Review.  He's  making  a  set  of  Japanese  rec- 
ords— geisha  songs  and  native  orchestra  pieces  and 
even  street-noises — to  copyright  at  home." 

Presently  the  horses  stopped  before  a  great  gate 
of  unpainted  cedar,  roofed  with  black  and  white 
tiles  and  bossed  with  nails  of  hammered  copper. 
Above  it  two  pine-trees  writhed  like  a  Dore  print. 
"One  of  the  Empress'  ladies-in-waiting  lives  here," 
Patricia  said.  "I'll  walk  home  and  on  the  way  I  can 
leave  some  'call-tickets' — Tucker's  name  for  visit- 
ing-cards. Give  my  love  to  the  bishop." 

She  looked  wistfully  after  Barbara  as  the  latter 
bowled  away  toward  Ts'kiji  and  her  uncle's.  Under 

294 


WHEN  A  WOMAN  DREAMS 

her  flyaway  spirits  Patricia  had  the  warmest  little 
heart  in  the  world,  loyal  to  its  last  beat  to  those  she 
liked.  Daunt  was  decidedly  in  this  category.  Like 
the  rest,  she  had  been  weaving  a  cheerful  little  ro- 
mance for  these  two  friends.  Since  the  evening  at 
the  Cherry-Moon,  however,  when  the  newly  arrived 
yacht  had  been  talked  of,  she  had  had  misgivings. 
Yesterday,  too,  Barbara,  while  confiding  nothing, 
had  told  her  of  Austen  Ware's  coming.  Patricia 
walked  up  the  driveway  slowly  and  with  a  puzzled 
frown. 

But  the  girl  driving  on  under  cherry-stained  sky 
and  cherry-scented  winds,  knew,  that  one  hour,  no 
problems.  She  was  full  of  the  flame  and  pulse  of 
youth,  of  a  new  nascent  tenderness  and  a  warm 
sense  of  loving  all  the  world.  She  asked  herself  if 
she  could  really  be  the  poised,  self-contained  girl 
who  a  few  weeks  ago  sailed  for  the  Orient.  Some 
magic  alchemy  had  transmuted  all  her  elements. 
New  emotions  dominated  her,  and  through  the 
beauty  before  her  gaze  went  flashing  more  beautiful 
thoughts  that  linked  with  the  future. 

In  her  pocket  was  a  letter.  It  had  been  brought 
to  her  that  morning  when  she  woke  and  she  had 
read  it  over  and  over,  kneeling  in  the  drift  of  pil- 
lows, her  red-gold  hair  draping  her  white  shoulders, 
thrilling,  murmuring  little  inarticulate  answers  to  its 
phrases,  looking  up  now  and  then  to  peer  through 
the  bamboo  sudare  to  the  white  and  green  cottage 

295 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

across  the  lawn.     He  would  not  see  her  to-day — 
until  evening.    Then  he  would  ask  her.     .     .     , 

As  the  carriage  bore  her  on,  she  whispered  again 
and  again  one  of  the  sentences  he  had  written: 
"There  has  never  been  another  woman  to  me,  Bar- 
bara. There  never  will  be !  My  Lady  of  the  Many- 
Colored  Fires !" 


296 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

BEHIND   THE   SHIKIRI 

MR.     Y.    NAKAJIMA,     the    almond-eyed 
guide  of  gold-filled  teeth,  came  to  the  end 
of  his  elaborate  conversation.     He  turned 
from  the  old  servant,  leaning  on  his  pruning  knife, 
and  spoke  to  the  man  who  stood  waiting  outside  the 
wistaria-gate  in  the  Street-of-the-Misty- Valley. 

"He  say  Mr.  Philip  Ware  stay  here,"  he  an- 
nounced, "but  house  is  ownerships  of  his  friend,  Mr. 
Daunt,  of  America  Embassy.  He  regret  sadly  that 
no  one  are  not  at  home." 

Ware  reflected.  Daunt's  house  ?  He  lived  in  the 
Embassy  compound — so  they  had  said  at  dinner  last 
night.  Why  should  he  maintain  this  native  house 
in  another  quarter  of  Tokyo?  There  came  to  his 
mind  that  hackneyed  phrase  "the  custom  of  the 
country,"  the  foreigner's  specious  justification  of  the 
modern  "Madame  Butterfly."  In  this  interminable 
city,  with  its  labyrinthine  mazes,  who  could  tell 
what  this  or  that  gray  roof  might  shelter  ?  Was  this 
a  nook  enisled,  for  pretty  Japanese  romances  "under 
the  rose"?  He  had  loaned  it  to  Phil — they  were 
friends. 

297 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

Ware  struck  his  stick  hard  against  the  hedge.  He 
scarcely  knew  what  thought  had  entered  his  mind, 
so  nebulous  was  it,  so  indefinable.  If  he  had  thought 
to  use  this  discovery,  he  knew  no  way;  if  it  was 
Daunt's  covert,  here  was  Phil  in  possession. 

"Ask  him  if  he  has  any  idea  where  he  is." 

The  guide  translated.  The  servant  was  ignobly 
unacquainted,  as  yet,  with  the  danna-S an' s  illustri- 
ous habits.  He  arrogantly  presumed  to  suggest  that 
he  might  augustly  be  in  any  one  of  a  hundred 
esteemed  spots. 

Ware  thought  a  moment,  frowningly.  "Tell  him 
I  am  Wart-San' s  brother,"  he  said  then,  "and  that 
I  have  just  arrived  in  Tokyo.  I  shall  wait  in  the 
house  till  he  comes." 

The  old  man  bowed  profoundly  at  the  statement 
of  the  relationship.  He  spoke  at  some  length  to  the 
guide.  The  latter  looked  at  Ware  questioningly  but 
hesitated. 

"Well?"  asked  the  other  tartly. 

"He  think  better  please  you  wait  to  the  hotel." 

Ware  struck  open  the  gate  with  a  flare  of  irrita- 
tion. "You  can  go  now,"  he  said  to  the  guide,  and 
disdaining  the  servant,  strode  along  the  gravel  path 
to  the  house  entrance. 

The  old  man  looked  after  him  with  an  enigmatic 
Japanese  smile.  It  was  not  his  fault  if  the  foreign- 
ers (the  kappa  devour  them!)  ate  dead  beasts  and 
were  all  quite  mad!  He  tucked  up  his  kimono, 

298 


BEHIND  THE  SHIKIRI 

stacked  his  gardening-tools  neatly  under  the  hedge, 
and  betook  himself  across  the  street  for  a  smoke  and 
a  game  of  Go  with  the  neighbor's  betto. 

Under  the  trailing  vine  Ware  slid  back  the  shoji 
and  entered  the  house. 

As  he  stood  looking  at  the  interior  his  lip  curled. 
He  hated  the  cheapness  and  vulgarity  to  which  Phil 
turned  with  instinctive  liking,  and  he  had  long  ago 
come  thoroughly  to  despise  his  younger  brother  and 
to  relish  the  whip-hand  which  the  law,  with  its 
guardianship,  gave  him.  The  place  fitted  Phil,  from 
the  cigarette  odor  to  the  loud  photograph  in  the 
dragon-frame  and  the  partly  open  wall-closet  with 
its  significant  array  of  bottles.  It  expressed  his  idea 
of  "a  good  time !" 

He  slid  open  a  shikiri.  It  showed  a  room,  evi- 
dently unused,  littered  with  tools,  a  dusty  table  with 
models  of  curious  wing-like  propellers,  a  small  elec- 
tric dynamo  and  a  steel-lathe.  He  opened  another, 
and  stood  looking  at  the  room  it  disclosed  with  a 
faint  smile.  It  was  scrupulously  clean  and  orderly, 
and,  in  contrast  to  the  outer  apartment,  had  an 
atmosphere  of  delicate  refinement.  On  the  wall 
hung  a  tiny  gilt  image  of  Kwan-on  and  below  it  on 
an  improvised  shelf  an  incense  rod  was  burning 
with  a  clean,  pungent  odor.  At  one  side  was  sus- 
pended a  mosquito-bar  of  dark  green  gauze,  and 
across  a  low  stool  was  laid  a  kimono,  with  silver 
camelias  on  a  mauve  ground.  He  picked  this  up 

299 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

and  looked  at  it  curiously,  half  conscious  of  a  faint 
perfume  that  clung  to  it. 

He  shut  his  teeth.  The  camelia  had  always  been 
Barbara's  favorite  flower! 

Meanwhile  the  girl  thus  incongruously  in  his 
thought  had  felt  a  gray  shadow  across  her  sunshine. 
She  found  her  uncle  greatly  perplexed  and  troubled. 
Haru's  Bible,  found  on  the  Chapel  doorstep,  had 
been  brought  to  him  that  morning.  He  had  sent  at 
once  to  the  Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods  and  the 
messenger  had  returned  with  news  of  her  disappear- 
ance. The  fact  that  she  had  taken  clothing  with  her 
showed  that  the  flight  was  a  deliberate  one. 

It  pained  him  to  think  what  the  return  of  the 
book  and  the  little  cross  might  mean.  In  his  long 
residence  in  Japan  the  bishop  had  grown  accus- 
tomed to  strange  denouements,  to  flashing  revela- 
tions of  subtle  deeps  in  oriental  character.  But  save 
for  one  instance  of  many  years  ago — which  the  sight 
of  Barbara  must  always  recall  to  him — he  had  never 
been  more  saddened  than  by  to-day's  disclosure. 
What  he  told  her  had  left  Barbara  with  an  uneasy 
apprehension.  She  drove  away  pondering.  The 
anxious  speculation  blurred  the  glamour  of  the 
afternoon. 

The  homeward  course  took  her  through  Aoyama, 
by  unfrequented  streets  of  pleasant,  suburban-like 
gardens  and  small  houses  with  roofs  of  fluted  tile 

300 


BEHIND  THE  SHIKIRI 

as  softly  gray  as  silk.  Here  and  there  a  bean-curd 
peddler  droned  his  cry  of  "To-o-fu!  To-o-fu-u!" 
and  under  a  spreading  kiri  tree  a  blind  beggar 
squatted,  playing  a  flute  through  his  nostrils,  while 
his  wife,  also  blind  and  with  a  beady-eyed  baby 
strapped  to  her  back,  twanged  a  samiscn  beside  him. 
In  the  road  groups  of  little  girls  were  playing 
games  with  much  clapping  of  hands  and  shouting  in 
shrill  voices. 

In  one  of  the  cross-streets  a  dozen  coolies  strode, 
carrying  flaming  white  banners  painted  in  red  idio- 
graphs.  The  last  bore  a  huge  papier-mache  bottle 
— an  advertisement  of  a  popular  brand  of  beer.  A 
brass  band  of  four  pieces,  discoursing  hideously 
tuneless  sounds,  led  them,  and  between  band  and 
banners  stalked  a  grotesquely  clad  figure  on  stilts 
ten  feet  tall,  the  shafts  pantalooned  so  that  his  legs 
seemed  to  have  been  drawn  out  like  India-rubber. 
The  spidery  pedestrian  was  followed  by  a  score  of 
staring  children  of  all  ages  and  sizes. 

Suddenly  Barbara  rose  to  her  feet  in  the  carriage. 
She  had  seen  a  girl  emerge  from  a  small  temple  and 
turn  into  a  side  street. 

"Fast!  Drive  fast,  Taka,"  she  called  quickly. 
"The  street  to  the  left !"  He  obeyed,  but  a  soba-ya 
had  halted  his  shining  copper  cart  of  steaming  buck- 
wheat, and  momentarily  delayed  them. 

The  hastening  figure  was  farther  away  when  they 
rounded  the  turning.  Barbara  clasped  her  hands  to- 

301 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

gether.  "It  wo?  Hani !  It  was  Haru !  I  am  sure!" 
she  whispered. 

The  girl  slipped  through  a  gateway  hung  with 
wistaria.  As  Barbara  sprang  to  the  ground  she  was 
hurrying  through  the  garden. 

"Haru!"  But  the  flying  figure  did  not  seem  to 
hear  the  call. 

Barbara  ran  quickly  after  her  along  the  gravel 
path. 

In  the  house,  Austen  Ware,  standing  with  the 
kimono  in  his  hand,  had  heard  the  rumble  of  car- 
riage wheels.  He  had  left  the  outer  shoji  open,  and 
through  the  aperture  he  saw  the  slim  form  hastening 
toward  the  doorway.  An  exclamation  broke  from 
his  lips.  Behind  her,  just  entering  the  gate,  was 
Barbara ! 

For  a  breath  he  stared.  A  cool,  thriving  suspicion 
— one  bred  of  his  anger  and  humiliation,  that 
shamed  his  manhood — ran  through  him.  Barbara, 
there?  Was  it  another  rendezvous,  then?  The 
fierce,  self-dishonoring  doubt  merged  into  the  mad 
jealousy  that  already  burned  him  like  a  brand. 

He  dropped  the  kimono,  drew  back  the  shikiri  of 
the  unused  apartment,  and  stepped  inside. 

Swiftly  and  noiselessly  the  light  partition  slipped 
into  place  behind  him. 


'302: 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 


THROUGH  the  thin  paper  pane,  parted  fry  his 
moistened  finger,  Ware's  hot,  hollow  eyes  saw 
the  Japanese  girl  come  into  the  room.     She 
had  not  waited  to  shut  the  shoji  behind  her.     She 
drew  quick  sobbing  breaths  and  her  eyes  had  the 
desperate  look  of  a  hunted  animal.    She  ran  into  the 
sleeping  apartment  and  closed  its  shikiri. 

Barbara  had  halted  at  the  doorway.  As  she  stood 
looking  in,  her  eyes  fell  on  the  mauve  kimono 
with  its  silver  camelias.  It  was  the  robe  Haru  had 
worn  the  first  evening  she  came  to  her.  If  she  had 
doubted,  all  doubt  was  now  gone.  An  instant  she 
hesitated,  then,  with  sudden  resolution,  knocked  on 
the  grill  and  stepped  across  the  threshold. 

The  man  who  watched  could  not  solve  the  puzzle, 
but  in  that  instant  the  sick  suspicion  he  had  har- 
bored became  a  cold  and  lifeless  thing  in  his  breast. 
A  sense  of  shame  rushed  through  him  as  he  saw  her 
gaze  wander  about  the  interior  with  its  veneer  of  the 
foreign  :  to  the  disordered  desk  —  the  lounge  and  its 
litter  of  books  —  the  photograph  on  the  wall  —  the 
open  panel  with  its  champagne  bottles.  In  her 

303 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

glance  distaste  had  grown  to  a  quick  question.  The 
coarse  suggestions  of  the  place  were  welling  over 
her.  Whose  house  was  this?  Had  Haru  seen  her 
and  was  she  hiding  from  her  ? 

Suddenly  she  saw  the  man's  cap  and  gauntlet  in 
the  corner.  Her  cheeks  rushed  into  flame.  She 
seemed  to  see  Haru's  innocent  face  smiling  at  her 
over  the  throbbing  samisen  and  through  its  tones  to 
hear  again  the  echo  of  a  ribald  laugh  before  the 
gilded  cages  of  the  Yoshiwara.  Something  in  her 
cried  out  against  the  inference.  All  at  once  she  took 
an  abrupt  step  forward.  She  was  looking  at  the 
round  glass  lantern  just  outside  the  doorway,  paint- 
ed with  three  characters : 

KVh 

She  chilled  as  if  ether  had  been  poured  in  her 
veins.  The  name  they  stood  for  had  been  her  first 
lesson  in  Japanese — which  Haru  had  taught  her! 
She  snatched  up  one  of  the  volumes  from  the  chair. 
It  was  Lillienthal's  Conquest  of  the  Air.  She 
opened  it  to  the  title  page. 

Ware,  watching,  saw  with  surprise  that  she  was 
trembling  violently.  She  had  grown  pale  to  the 
lips.  The  book  slipped  from  her  fingers  and  crashed 
on  to  the  tatatne.  It  lay  there,  open  as  she  had  held 
it,  and  he  saw  what  was  written  across  the  white 
leaf.  It  was  Daunt's  name. 

304 


His  thought  leaped  as  if  at  the  flick  of  a  lasli. 
Daunt's  book!  What  was  she  thinking?  The  pite- 
ous pallor  that  swept  her  face  like  an  icy  wave  an- 
swered him.  Why  she  was  there — her  interest  in 
this  Japanese  girl  who  fled  from  her — he  could  not 
guess.  But  it  was  clear  that  she  had  not  known  the 
house  was  Daunt's,  and  that  with  the  knowledge,  she 
was  face  to  face  with  what  must  seem  a  damning 
complicity.  Perhaps  some  hint  of  this  retreat  had 
come  to  her — he  knew  how  gossip  feathered  its 
shafts! — some  covert  allusion,  some  laughing  oui- 
dire,  to  which  her  coming  had  now  given  such  ver- 
ity. Phil  was  the  deus  ex  machina  of  the  situation. 
His  Japanese  amour  she  was  now  laying  at  Daunt's 
door!  All  this  flashed  through  his  mind  in  an  in- 
stant. He  watched  her  intently. 

Over  Barbara  was  sweeping  a  hideous  chaos  of 
mocking  voices,  bits  of  recollection  barbed  with 
agony.  The  little  house  near  Aoyama  parade- 
ground — the  carriage  had  passed  the  great  empty 
plaza  a  few  moments  ago — that  he  had  kept  from 
"sentiment"!  The  house  she  had  asked  him  to 
show  her,  when  he  had  evaded  the  request.  And 
Haru!  A  feeling  of  physical  anguish  like  that  of 
death  came  to  her;  a  dull  pain  was  in  her  temples 
and  the  floor  seemed  to  be  rising  up  with  her  toward 
the  ceiling.  Daunt?  He  whose  lips  had  lain  on 
hers,  whose  letter  was  in  her  bosom — it  burned  her 
flesh  now  like  a  live  coal !  "There  has  never  been 

305 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

another  woman  to  me,  Barbara.  There  never  will 
be !"  The  words  seemed  to  launch  themselves  from 
the  air,  stinging  like  fiery  javelins. 

Behind  the  shikiri,  a  weird,  malevolent  clamor 
was  shouting  through  Ware's  brain.  He  stood 
alone  with  his  temptation.  What  had  he  to  do  with 
Daunt,  or  with  her  belief  in  him  ?  She  had  accepted 
his  own  advances,  beckoned  him  half  around  the 
world — for  what?  To  discard  him  for  this  man 
whom  she  had  known  but  a  handful  of  days! 
Chance  had  arranged  this  mise  en  scene.  Was  he  to 
tell  her  the  truth — and  lose  her?  The  key  to  the 
situation  was  in  his  hand.  He  had  only  to  keep 
silence ! 

At  that  moment  he  felt  crumble  down  in  some 
crude  gulf  within  the  fabric  of  his  self-esteem — the 
high-built  structure  of  years.  Something  colder, 
formless  and  malignant,  came  to  sit  on  its  riven 
foundations.  A  savage  elation  grew  in  him. 

Suddenly  a  shikiri  was  flung  aside.  Haru  stood 
there,  her  face  deathly  pale,  her  hands  wrenching 
and  tearing  at  her  sleeves.  She  laughed,  a  high, 
gasping,  unnatural  treble. 

"So-o-o,  O jo-San!  You  come  make  visiting — 
ne?"  The  shrill  voice  rang  through  the  silent  room. 
"My  new  house  now,  an'  mos'  bes'  master.  No 
more  Christian!  My  bad — oh,  ve-ree  bad  Japan 
girl!"  With  another  peal  of  laughter  she  pointed 
to  the  knot  of  her  obi.  It  was  tied  in  front. 

306 


KVh 

Barbara  ran  down  the  garden  path  as  if  pursued. 
She  stepped  into  the  carriage  blindly.  The  Fox- 
Woman!  Votary  of  the  Fox-God,  at  whose  candle- 
lighted  shrine  she  had  refused  tribute ! 

This,  then,  was  the  end.  It  came  to  her  like  the 
striking  of  a  great  bell.  To-morrow  the  streets 
would  lie  as  vivid  in  the  sunlight,  the  buglers  would 
march  as  blithely,  the  bent  pines  would  wave,  the 
lotos-pads  in  the  moat  glisten,  the  gorgeous  geisha 
flash  by:  she  alone  would  know  that  the  sun  had 
died  in  the  blue  heaven ! 

"Home,  Taka,"  she  said,  and  leaned  back  and 
closed  her  eyes. 

Behind  her  Haru's  laughter  had  broken  suddenly. 
She  rushed  into  the  little  sleeping-room  and  threw 
herself  on  the  tatame  before  the  tiny  image  of  Kwan- 
on,  in  a  wild  burst  of  sobbing. 

Ware  opened  the  shikiri  softly,  and  with  noiseless 
step,  passed  out  of  the  house. 


307 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII 

THE  LADY  OF  THE  MANY-COLORED  FIRES 

THE  spacious  residence  of  the  Minister  of 
Marine  that  night  was  a  maze  of  light.  All 
social  Tokyo  would  be  at  the  ball  in  honor  of 
the  Admiral  and  officers  of  the  visiting  Squadron. 

It  was  late  when  Daunt  turned  his  steps  thither 
through  the  fragrant  evening.  The  deciphering  of 
a  voluminous  telegram  had  kept  him  at  the  Chan- 
cery till  eleven. 

All  that  day  he  had  worked  with  a  delicious  exhil- 
aration rioting  in  his  pulses.  He  had  not  seen  Bar- 
bara, but  her  face  had  seemed  always  before  him — 
quiveringly  passionate  as  he  had  seen  it  in  Ben-ten's 
cave,  hazed  with  daring  softness  as  it  had  turned  to 
his  on  the  steps  of  the  railway  carriage.  There  had 
been  moments  when  some  aroma  of  the  spring  air 
made  him  catch  his  breath,  mindful  of  the  crisp, 
sweet  scent  of  her  hair  or  the  maddening  fragrance 
of  her  lips.  He  thought  of  "Big"  Murray  and  his 
letter,  at  which  he  had  bridled — how  long  ago? 
He  understood  now  what  the  complacent  old  pirate 
had  been  talking  about!  He  would  have  an  epistle 
to  write  him  to-morrow  in  return!  To-night  he 

308 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  FIRES 

was  to  see  her!  In  fancy  he  could  feel  her  slim 
hand  on  his  sleeve  as  they  danced — could  see  him- 
self sitting  with  her  in  some  dusky  alcove  sweet 
with  plum-blossoms — could  hear  her  say  .  .  . 

A  hoarse  warning  from  a  betto  and  he  sprang 
aside  for  a  carriage  that  dashed  past  through  the 
gateway.  He  shook  himself  with  a  laugh  and  walked 
on  through  the  shrubbery.  By  day  it  was  a  place  of 
mossy  shadows,  of  shrubberied  red-lacquer  bridges 
and  glimmering  cascades;  now  its  polished  dwarf- 
pines  and  twisted  cypresses  gleamed  with  red  paper 
lanterns  that  hung  like  goblin  fruit  and  quivered, 
monster  misshapen  gold-fish,  in  the  miniature  lake. 
Along  the  drives  stood  policemen,  wearing  white 
trousers  and  gloves.  Each  held  a  paper  lantern 
painted  with  the  Minister's  mon  or  family  crest. 
Farther  on  carriages  became  thicker,  till  the  ap- 
proach was  a  crawling  stream  of  gleaming  black 
enamel,  sweating  horses,  crackling  whips,  and 
shouting  bettos.  Daunt  picked  his  way  among  these 
to  where  a  wide  swath  of  electric  light  beneath  the 
porte-cochere  struck  into  high  relief  a  strip  of  scarlet 
carpet. 

The  interior  was  dressed  with  that  marvelous 
attention  to  minutiae  and  artistic  ensemble  that  is 
characteristically  Japanese.  The  great  hall  was 
brilliant  opera  bouffe:  a  mingling  crowd  of  gold- 
braided  uniforms  crossed  by  colored  cordons  and 
flashing  with  decorations,  white  necks  and  shoulders 

309 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

rising  from  dainty  French  gowns,  gleaming  lights, 
Japanese  men  in  European  costume,  languorous 
black  eyes  under  shining  Japanese  head-dresses,  and 
silken  kimono  woven  in  tints  as  soft  as  dreams.  In 
the  large  central  room  opposite  was  hung  a  painting 
of  the  Emperor.  Japanese  who  passed  it  did  so 
reverently.  They  did  not  turn  their  backs.  Some 
of  the  older  ones  bowed  low  before  it  and  withdrew 
backward.  Through  a  doorway  came  glimpses  of 
couples  on  a  polished  floor  swaying  to  music  that 
swelled  and  ebbed  unceasingly,  and  down  a  long 
vista  a  pink  dazzle  of  cherry-blooms  under  a  cloth 
roof.  Over  all  was  the  exotic  perfume  of  flowers. 

Daunt  had  seen  many  such  affairs  where  the 
blending  of  colors  and  sounds,  the  scintillant  shift- 
ing of  forms,  had  been  but  a  maze.  To-night's, 
however,  was  wound  in  a  glory.  All  these  decora- 
tive people,  this  scented  echo  of  laughter  and  music, 
existed  only  to  form  a  kaleidoscopic  setting  for  the 
one  woman.  He  went  to  search  for  her  with  his 
handsome  head  erect,  his  shoulders  square  and  a 
color  in  his  face. 

He  passed  through  several  rooms,  revealing  one 
oriental  picture  after  another.  In  one  a  series  of 
glass-cases  reproduced  a  daimyo's  procession  in  Old 
Japan :  hundreds  of  dolls,  six  inches  high,  fashioned 
in  elaborate  detail — coolies  with  banners;  chest- 
bearers;  caparisoned  horses;  bullock-carts  with 
huge,  black  lacquer  wheels;  samurai,  visored  and 

310 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  FIRES 

clad  in  armor,  with  glittering  swords  and  lances.  In 
another  were  cabinets  spread  with  pieces  of  price- 
less gold-lacquer  that  had  cost  a  lifetime  of  loving 
labor.  A  third  the  host  denominated  his  "ghost- 
room,"  since  it  was  lined  with  quaint  pottery  un- 
earthed in  ancient  Korean  tombs.  These  rooms 
were  filled  with  the  social  world  of  the  capital,  a 
gay  glimmer  of  urbanity  set  off  against  masses  of 
all  the  blossoms  of  spring.  In  the  last  room  the  host 
stood  with  the  visiting  Admiral  and  several  Ambas- 
sadors. He  was  a  perfect  type  of  the  modern  Jap- 
anese of  affairs,  a  diplomatist  as  well  as  a  seasoned 
Admiral.  He  had  been  at  Annapolis  in  '75  and  his 
wife  was  a  graduate  of  Wellesley.  He  was  one  of 
the  strongest  of  the  powerful  coterie  which  was 
shaping  the  destinies  of  new  Japan.  Daunt  greeted 
him  and  paused  to  chat  a  while  with  his  own  chief 
and  Mrs.  Dandridge.  Her  gown  was  gray  and 
silver,  with  soft  old  lace  that  accentuated  the  youth- 
ful contour  of  her  face,  and  framed  the  graciousness 
and  charm  that  made  her  marked  in  however  charm- 
ing and  gracious  an  assembly.  Barbara  was  not 
there. 

He  entered  a  veranda  where  people  sat  at0  little 
tables  eating  ices  frozen  in  the  shape  of  Fuji,  under 
fairy  lamps  whose  tiny  bamboo  and  paper  shades 
were  delicately  painted  with  sworls  of  water  and 
swimming  carp.  From  one  group  the  Baroness 
Stroloff  waved  a  hand  to  him,  but  Barbara  was  not 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

there.  Beyond,  through  a  canopied  doorway,  hung 
the  cherry-blooms.  He  paused  on  the  threshold.  It 
was  a  portion  of  the  garden  walled  in  with  white 
cloth,  and  roofed  with  blue  and  gold.  The  space 
thus  inclosed  was  set  with  cherry-trees  from  whose 
every  gray  twig  depended  the  great  pink  pendants. 
It  was  floored  with  soft  carpeting,  in  the  center  a 
fountain  tinkled  coolly,  and  the  roof  was  dotted  with 
incandescents.  In  this  retreat  the  violins  of  the  ball- 
room wove  dreamily  with  the  talk  and  laughter, 
tenuous  and  ghost-like,  soft  as  the  music  of  memory. 
She  was  not  there.  Daunt  turned  back,  threaded  the 
hall  and  entered  the  ball-room. 

There,  through  the  shifting  crowd,  over  flashing 
uniforms  and  diamonded  tiaras,  he  saw  her.  Beside 
her  stood  a  little  countess,  one  of  the  noted  court 
beauties,  lotos-pale,  bamboo-slender,  in  a  kimono 
of  Danjiro  blue,  with  woven  lilies.  In  the  clear  ra- 
diance, Barbara  stood  almost  surrounded.  Her 
white  satin  gown  shimmered  in  the  light,  which 
caught  like  globes  of  fire  in  the  gold  passion-flowers 
with  which  it  was  embroidered.  A  new  sense  of  her 
beauty  poured  over  him.  She  had  always  seemed 
lovely,  but  now  her  loveliness  was  touched  with 
something  removed  and  spiritual.  In  the  blaze  of 
light  she  looked  as  delicately  pale  as  a  moon-dahlia, 
but  a  spot  of  color  was  on  either  cheek  and  her  eyes 
were  very  bright.  Daunt  stood  still,  feasting  his 
gaze. 

312 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  FIRES 

The  Baroness  Stroloff  paused  beside  him,  chat- 
ting with  the  Cabinet  Minister  and  the  representa- 
tive of  the  Associated  Press.  They  watched  the 
forms  flit  past  in  the  swinging  rhythm  of  the  deux- 
tenips,  kimono  weaving  with  black  coats  and  uni- 
forms, varnished  pumps  gliding  with  milk-white 
tabi  and  velvet  pattens.  "Pretty  tinted  creatures," 
she  said.  "How  do  they  ever  keep  on  those  little 
thonged  sandals?" 

"Ah,  their  toes  were  born  to  them,"  the  journalist 
answered. 

The  statesman  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "Waltz- 
ing in  kimono  with  men  is  very,  very  modern  for 
our  Japanese  ladies,"  he  said.  "I  myself  never  saw 
it  until  two  years  ago — when  the  American  Fleet 
was  here.  That  established  it  as  a  fashion.  Some 
of  us  older  ones  may  frown,  but — shikata-ga-nai! 
'Way  out  there  is  none,'  as  we  say  in  our  language. 
It's  a  part  of  the  process  of  Westernization  I" 

Daunt  started  when  Patricia's  fan  tapped  his  arm. 

"You're  frightfully  late,"  she  said,  as  her  partner, 
the  German  Charge,  bowed  himself  away.  "Father 
will  give  you  a  wigging  if  you  don't  look  out." 

"I  saw  him  a  few  moments  ago,"  he  answered. 
"He  didn't  seem  very  fierce." 

"Was  he  still  looking  at  those  spooky  curios?  I 
can't  see  what  anybody  wants  such  things  for!  I 
always  feel  like  saying  what  Mark  Twain's  man  said 

313 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

when  they  showed  him  the  mummy :  'If  you've  got 
any  nice  fresh  corpse,  trot  him  out.' ' 

Daunt's  smile  was  a  mechanism.  She  knew  that 
he  had  ceased  to  listen.  As  she  looked  at  his  side- 
face  with  her  clear,  kind  eyes,  a  shadow  came  to 
her  own.  Her  loyal  heart  was  troubled.  After 
her  drive  that  afternoon,  Barbara  had  kept  her  room 
on  the  plea  of  rest  for  the  evening;  she  had  not 
come  down  to  dinner  and  had  appeared  only  at  the 
moment  of  starting.  At  the  first  glance,  then,  Patricia 
had  noticed  the  change.  The  Barbara  she  had  always 
known,  of  flashing  impulses  and  girlish  graces,  was 
gone;  the  Barbara  of  the  evening  had  seemed  sud- 
denly older,  of  even  rarer  beauty,  perhaps,  but  with 
something  of  detachment,  of  unfamiliarity.  Riding 
beside  her  to  the  ball,  Patricia  had  felt,  under  the 
eager,  brilliant  gaiety,  this  chilly  sense  of  estrange- 
ment, and  it  had  puzzled  her.  Later  she  had  come 
to  connect  it  with  the  man  of  whose  coming  Bar- 
bara had  told  her,  the  man  with  handsome,  bearded 
face  who  had  seemed,  since  his  greeting  in  the  mo- 
ment of  their  entrance,  to  take  unobtrusive  yet  as- 
sured possession  of  such  of  her  moments  as  were  not 
given  to  the  great.  Withal,  he  had  lent  this  an  air  of 
the  natural  and  habitual  which,  nicely  poised  and 
completely  conventional  as  it  was,  seemed  to  convey 
a  subtle  atmosphere  of  proprietorship.  So  now,  as 
she  saw  Daunt's  gaze,  Patricia  was  a  little  sad. 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  FIRES 

There  had  fallen  a  silence  between  them  which  he 
broke  with  a  sudden  exclamation. 

"No  wonder !"  he  said. 

"No  wonder  what?" 

"That  she  is  a  success." 

"Success !  I  should  think  so.  She's  danced  with 
three  Ambassadors  and  Prince  Hojo  sat  out  two 
numbers  with  her.  Just  look  at  the  men  around  her 
now!" 

The  music  had  drifted  into  a  waltz  and  the  group 
about  Barbara  was  dissolving.  A  dark  face  was 
bending  near.  Its  owner  put  his  arm  about  her 
and  they  glided  into  the  throng.  Ware,  like  all 
heavy  men,  danced  perfectly  and  the  pair  seemed  to 
skim  the  mirroring  floor  as  easily  as  swallows,  her 
red-bronze  hair,  caught  under  a  web  of  seed-pearls, 
glowing  like  a  net  of  fire-flies.  Heads  turned  back 
over  white  shoulders  and  on  the  edges  of  the  room 
people  whispered  as  they  passed.  Floating  lightly 
as  sea-foam,  the  shimmering  gown  drew  near,  pass- 
ing so  close  that  Daunt  could  have  touched  it.  The 
lovely  white  face,  over  her  partner's  shoulder,  met 
Daunt's.  For  a  fraction  of  a  second  Barbara's  eyes 
looked  into  his — then  swept  by  as  if  he  had  been 
empty  air.  It  was  as  if  a  clenched  hand  had  struck 
him  across  the  face. 

He  whitened.  Patricia  felt  a  sudden  sting  in  her 
eyelids.  She  slipped  her  hand  through  his  arm,  and 
saying  something  about  the  heat  (it  was  deliciously 

315 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

cool),  drew  him  down  the  corridor.  She  chatted 
on  airily,  fighting  a  desire  to  cry.  But  when  they 
came  to  the  entrance  of  the  cherry-blooms,  he  had 
not  spoken  a  word. 

"I  see  mother  still  in  the  spook  room,"  she  said. 
"I  must  go  back  to  her — no,  please  don't  come  with 
me !  Thank  you  so  much  for  bringing  me  so  far." 

She  left  him  with  a  nod  and  a  bright  smile  that 
he  did  not  see.  He  was  in  a  painful  quicksand  of 
bewilderment.  The  cherry-garden  was  almost  empty 
and  the  fountain  tinkled  in  a  perfumed  quiet.  He 
sat  down  on  a  bench  in  its  farthest  corner.  What 
did  it  mean?  Why,  it  had  been  like  the  cut  direct! 
From  her? — impossible!  She  had  not  seen  him! 
He  had  been  mistaken !  He  would  go  to  her — now ! 
He  sprang  up. 

A  page  came  into  the  garden.  He  was  a  part  of 
the  Minister's  establishment;  Daunt  had  often  seen 
him  in  that  house.  He  carried  a  tray  with  a  letter 
on  it. 

"For  you,  sir,"  he  said. 

Puzzled,  Daunt  took  it  and  the  boy  withdrew.  It 
bore  no  address.  He  tore  it  open.  It  contained 
some  folded  sheets  of  paper.  A  tense  whiteness 
sprang  to  his  face  as  he  unfolded  them.  It  was  his 
letter — the  only  love-letter  he  had  ever  written — 
torn  across. 

Now  he  knew!  It  had  been  true — what  he  had 
imagined  of  the  yacht !  The  cherry-trees  seemed  to 

316 


THE  LADY  OF  THE  FIRES 

writhe  about  him,  bizarre  one-legged  dancers  wav- 
ing pink  draperies,  and  a  tide  of  resentment  and 
grief  rose  in  his  breast  as  hot  as  lava.  Had  she 
been  only  playing  with  him,  then?  When  she  had 
lain  panting  in  his  arms  in  Ben-ten's  cave — when  her 
lips  had  quivered  to  his  kisses — had  it  all  been  act- 
ing? Was  this  what  she  really  was,  his  "Lady  of 
the  Many-Colored  Fires?"  He,  poor  fool!  had 
deemed  it  real,  when  it  had  been  only  a  week's 
amusement.  He  had  almost  guessed  the  truth  that 
night  at  the  tea-house,  and  how  cleverly  she  had 
fooled  him!  His  jarring  laugh  rang  out  across  the 
tinkle  of  the  fountain.  Then,  Austen  Ware's  tele- 
gram !  It  was  he  who  had  danced  with  her  to-night, 
no  doubt — Phil's  brother.  For  her  the  little  play 
was  over.  The  curtain  had  to  be  rung  down,  and 
this  was  how  she  did  it. 

Dim  thoughts  like  these  went  flitting  through  the 
gap  of  his  racked  senses.  He  dropped  on  the 
bench  and  bowed  his  head  between  his  hands.  It 
had  been  real  enough  to  him.  Painted  on  his  closed 
eyelids  he  seemed  to  see,  with  a  chill,  numb  certainty, 
his  future  unrolling  like  a  gray  panorama,  incoher- 
ent and  unwhole,  its  colors  lack-luster,  its  purpose 
denied,  its  meaning  missed.  Pain  lifted  its  snake- 
head  from  the  shadows  and  hissed  in  his  ear,  like 
the  jubilant  serpent  that  coiled  its  bright  length  by 
the  gate  of  Eden  when  the  flaming  sword  drove 
forth  the  first  man  to  the  desert  of  despair. 

317 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

Daunt  did  not  know  that  Patricia,  pausing  in  the 
corridor,  had  seen  the  letter  delivered  and  opened. 
She  went  back  to  her  mother  with  a  slow  step. 

"You  look  worn,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Dandridge,  as 
they  entered  the  ball-room.  "Are  you  tired  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  said.  "I  think  I  won't  dance  any 
more,  mother." 

The  host  had  entered  before  them  and  now  stood 
at  the  end  of  the  room  with  the  Admiral  of  the 
Squadron  and  the  Ambassador  of  the  latter's  nation. 
Suddenly  a  young  man  pushed  hastily  through  the 
press.  He  handed  his  chief  a  telegram.  The  Am- 
bassador scanned  it,  changed  color,  and  held  it  out 
to  the  Admiral  with  shaking  hand.  The  Secretary 
who  had  brought  it  said  something  to  the  Foreign 
Minister,  who  turned  instantly  to  give  a  quick  order 
to  a  servant.  The  orchestra  stopped  with  a  crash. 

There  was  a  dead  hush  over  the  brilliant  room- 
full,  broken  only  by  the  movement  of  the  Squad- 
ron's officers  as  they  came  hurriedly  forward  beside 
their  Admiral.  All  looked  at  the  white-haired  dip- 
lomatist who  stood,  his  eyes  full  of  tears,  the  pink 
telegram  in  his  hand. 

He  addressed  the  grave  group  of  naval  men. 
"Gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "I  have  the 
great  grief  to  announce  the  sudden  death  to-day  of 
His  Majesty,  the  King." 

He  bowed  to  his  host,  and,  followed  by  the  Ad- 
miral and  his  officers,  left  the  house.  The  Ambas- 


THE  LADY  OF.  THE  FIRES 

sadors  and  Ministers  of  the  other  powers,  in  order 
of  their  precedence,  each  with  his  glittering  staff 
and  their  ladies  about  him,  followed.  The  gaiety 
was  over;  it  had  ceased  at  the  far-away  echo  of  a 
nation's  bells,  tolling  half  a  world  away. 

The  great  house  was  almost  emptied  of  its  guests 
when  the  solitary  figure  that  had  sat  in  the  cherry- 
garden  passed  out  along  the  deserted  corridors. 
Daunt  went  utterly  oblivious  that  its  bright  pagean- 
try had  departed.  A  feverish  color  was  in  his  cheek 
and  his  eyes  were  dulled  with  a  painful  apathy. 

Count  Voynich  was  lighting  a  cigarette  in  the 
cloak  room  as  he  entered.  "Sic  transit!"  he  said. 
"This  calls  a  quick  halt  on  the  plans  of  the  Squad- 
ron's entertainment,  doesn't  it !" 

There  was  no  answer.  Daunt  was  fumbling,  from 
habit,  for  the  lettered  disk  of  wood  in  his  pocket. 

"If  the  King  could  have  lived  a  few  weeks 
longer,"  said  Voynich,  "we'd  have  heard  no  more 
talk  of  trouble  with  Japan.  He  was  a  great  peace- 
maker. The  new  regent  may  be  less  circumspect. 
What  do  you  think?" 

No  reply.    He  spoke  again  sharply. 

"I  say,  Miss  Fairfax  seems  to  be  making  a  tre- 
mendous walkover,  eh  ?" 

There  was  only  silence.  Daunt  did  not  hear  him. 
Voynich  looked  at  his  face,  whistled  softly  under 
his  breath,  and  went  quietly  away. 

319 


CHAPTER    XXXIX 

THE  HEART  OF  BARBARA 

THE  Ambassador,  standing  by  the  mantel, 
looked  thoughtfully  at  his  wife.  She  sat  in 
a  big  wicker  chair,  in  a  soft  dressing-gown, 
her  hands  clasped  over  one  knee  in  a  pose  very 
pretty  and  girlish. 

"Come!"  he  said  good-humoredly.  "You  women 
are  always  imagining  romances  and  broken  hearts. 
Why,  Barbara  and  Daunt  haven't  known  each  other 
long  enough  to  fall  in  love." 

She  looked  at  him  quizzically.  "Do  you  remem- 
ber how  long  we  had  known  each  other  when 
you—" 

"Pshaw !"  he  retorted.  "That's  just  like  a  woman. 
She  never  can  argue  without  coming  to  personali- 
ties. Besides,  there  never  was  another  girl  like  you, 
my  dear — I  couldn't  afford  to  take  any  chances." 

"Away  with  your  blarney,  Ned !  You  know  I'm 
right,  though  you  won't  admit  it." 

"Of  course  I  won't.  Daunt's  not  a  woman's  man. 
He  never  was.  He's  been  getting  along  pretty  well 
with  Barbara,  no  doubt.  But  this  man  she's  going 

320 


THE  HEART  OF  BARBARA 

to  marry  she's  known  for  a  year.  The  bishop  told 
me  about  him  the  day  after  they  landed.  He  thought 
she  was  practically  engaged  to  him  then." 

"  'Practically !' '  she  commented  with  gentle 
scorn.  "Are  girls  who  have  been  properly  brought 
up  ever  'practically'  engaged,  and  not  fully  so  ?  She 
may  have  expected  to  marry  him,  and  yet  if  I  ever 
saw  a  girl  in  love — and,  oh,  Ned,  remember  that 
I  understand  what  that  means! — she  was  in  love 
with  Daunt  yesterday.  We  women  see  more  than 
men  and  feel  more.  Patsy  saw  it  too.  She's  feeling 
badly  about  it,  poor  child,  I  think." 

"Nonsense!"  the  ambassador  sniffed.  "There 
isn't  a  shred  of  evidence.  Barbara's  not  a  flirt  in 
the  first  place,  and,  if  she  were,  Daunt  can  take  care 
of  himself." 

"He  came  to  your  study,  didn't  he,  after  the  ball  ? 
I  thought  I  heard  his  voice  in  the  hall." 

"Yes,"  he  answered. 

"How  did  he  look?" 

"Well,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  "he  was  a  bit  off 
color,  I  thought.  I  told  him  to  take  a  few  days  off 
and  run  up  to  Chuzenji." 

"Is  he  going?" 

"Yes.  He's  leaving  early  in  the  morning.  But 
don't  get  it  into  your  sympathetic  little  head  that  it 
has  the  slightest  thing  to  do  with  Barbara.  The 
idea's  quite  absurd.  He's  never  thought  of  such  a 
thing  as  falling  in  love  with  her !" 

321 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"Don't  you  think  a  woman  knoivs  about  these 
things  ?" 

"When  she's  told.  And  Barbara  has  told  you, 
hasn't  she?" 

"That  she  is  going  to  marry  Mr.  Ware.    Yes." 

"Well,  what  more  do  you  want?" 

She  shook  her  head.  "Only  for  her  to  be  happy !" 
she  said  tremulously.  "I've  never  known  a  girl 
who  has  grown  so  into  my  heart,  Ned.  I  feel  almost 
as  though  she  were  Patsy's  sister.  She  has  no 
mother  of  her  own — no  one  to  advise  her.  And  yet 
— I — somehow  I  couldn't  talk  about  it  to  her.  I 
tried.  She  doesn't  want  to.  It  seemed  almost  as  if 
she  were  afraid." 

"Afraid?" 

"Of  doing  something  else.  As  if  she  were  going 
into  this  marriage  as  a  refuge.  I  don't  know  just 
why  I  felt  that,  but  I  did.  She  was  so  very  pale,  so 
very  quiet  and  contained.  It  didn't  seem  quite  nat- 
ural. It  made  me  think  of  Pamela  Langham.  You 
remember  her  ?  She  was  in  love  with  a  man  who — 
well,  whom  she  found  she  couldn't  marry.  He 
wasn't  the  right  sort.  I  suppose  she  was  afraid  she 
would  marry  him  anyway  if  she  waited.  So  she 
married  another  man  at  once — a  man  who  had  been 
in  love  with  her  for  years.  We  were  just  the  same 
age  and  she  told  me  all  about  it  at  the  time.  To- 
night when  Barbara  told  me  she  had  promised  to 

322 


THE  HEART  OF  BARBARA 

marry  this  Mr.  Ware — and  soon,  Ned! — I  seemed 
to  see  poor  little  dead  Pamela  looking  at  me  with  her 
pale  face  and  big,  deep  eyes." 

She  turned  her  head  and  furtively  wiped -her  eyes. 
"If  I  could  only  be  sure !"  she  said.  "But  I  think 
how  I  should  feel — if  it  were  Patsy,  Ned!" 

And  while  they  talked,  Barbara  lay  in  her  blue- 
and-white  room,  wide-eyed  in  the  dark.  The  smil- 
ing, ball-room  mask  had  slipped  from  her  face  and 
left  it  strained  and  white.  She  had  drawn  the  cur- 
tain and  shut  out  the  misty  glory  of  the  garden — 
and  the  small  white  cottage  across  the  scented  lawn. 

In  those  few  agonized  hours  of  the  afternoon, 
while  she  had  lain  there  thrilling  with  suffering, 
something  deep  within  her  had  seemed  to  fail — as 
though  a  newly-lighted  flame,  white  and  pure,  had 
fallen  and  died.  Where  it  had  gleamed  remained 
only  a  painful  twilight.  It  had  been  a  different  Bar- 
bara that  had  emerged.  The  fairest  fabric  of  those 
Japanese  days  had  crashed  into  the  dust,  and  in  the 
echo  of  its  fall  she  stood  anchorless,  in  terror  of  her- 
self and  of  the  future.  The  harbor  of  convention 
alone  seemed  to  offer  safety — and  at  the  harbor  en- 
trance waited  Austen  Ware.  At  the  ball  the  die  had 
been  cast. 

Outside  the  window  she  could  hear  the  rasp  of  the 
pine-branches  and  the  sleepy  "korup!  korup!"  of  a 

323 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

pigeon.  A  tiny  night-lamp  was  on  the  stand  beside 
her.  Its  gleam  lit  vaguely  the  golden  Buddha  on 
the  Sendai  chest.  Its  face  now  seemed  cold  and 
blank  and  cruel,  and  in  its  dim  light,  on  the  shadowy 
wall,  sharp  detached  pictures  etched  themselves.  She 
saw  herself  looking  at  Austen  Ware's  yacht,  set  in 
that  wonderful,  warm,  orient  bay — a  swift,  white 
monitor,  watching  her!  She  saw  a  yellow  rank  of 
convicts  filing  into  the  yawning  mouth  of  Shim- 
bashi  Station — like  the  long,  drab  years  of  savor- 
less lives!  She  saw  the  great  white  plaster  figure 
over  the  entrance-arch  of  the  Yoshiwara — beckon- 
ing to  hollow  smiles  that  covered  empty  hearts ! 

Over  the  thronging  pictures  grew  another — a 
misty,  nightgowned  little  figure  who  stood  by  her, 
whispering  her  name.  Patricia,  after  sleepless  hours, 
crept  from  her  bed  to  Barbara's  room,  longing  for 
some  assurance,  she  knew  not  what,  some  breath  of 
the  old  girlish  confidences  to  melt  the  ice  that  seemed 
to  have  congealed  between  them.  And  Barbara, 
with  the  first  phantom  of  softened  feeling  she  had 
known  that  night,  took  the  other  into  her  arms. 

But  it  was  she  who  comforted,  whispering  words 
that  she  knew  were  empty,  caressing  the  younger 
girl  with  a  touch  that  held  no  tremor,  no  hint  of 
those  anguished  visions  that  had  floated  through  the 
leaden  silences  of  her  soul. 

Till  at  last,  Patricia,  half-reassured,  smiled  and 
324 


THE  HEART  OF  BARBARA 

fell  asleep;  while  Barbara,  her  loose  gold  hair  drift- 
ing across  the  pillow,  her  bare  arm  nestling  the 
dark,  braided  head  beside  her,  lay  stirless,  staring 
into  the  shadows,  where  the  pale  glimmer  of  the 
Buddha  floated,  a  ghostly  chiaroscuro. 


325 


CHAPTER   XE 

THE  SHADOW  OF  A  TO-MORROW 

NIKKO'S  thin  street,  with  its  gigantic  isle  of 
cryptomeria,  was  a  shimmer  of  gold,  a 
flicker  of  crimson  and  mandarin-blue.  All 
the  town  was  out  of  doors,  for  it  was  the  matsuri, 
the  local  festival  of  leyasu,  the  great  shogun  deity, 
when  the  ancient  furniture  and  treasures  of  the  tem- 
ple are  carried  in  priestly  processional  through  the 
streets.  The  path  of  the  pageant  was  lined  with 
spectators:  old  country-women  with  shaven  eye- 
brows and  burnished,  blackened  teeth,  and  with  hair 
tightly  plastered  in  old-fashioned  wheels  and  pin- 
ions; children  in  kaleidoscopic  dress,  frantically 
dragged  by  older  girls  with  pink  paper  flowers  in 
their  stiff  black  hair ;  men  sitting  sedately  on  sober- 
colored  f'ton,  bowing  to  pedestrian  acquaintances 
with  elaborate  and  stereotyped  ceremony.  In  the 
.moldy  shade  above  a  grim,  wizened  row  of  images 
of  the  god  of  justice,  was  nailed  a  sign-board: 
"Everybody  are  require  not  to  broke  the  trees." 
Beside  the  moss-covered  replicas  a  booth  had 
been  erected  for  foreign  spectators.  It  was  crowded 

326 


THE  SHADOW  OF  A  TOMORROW 

with  tourists — a  bank  of  perspiring,  fan-fluttering 
humanity.  Up  and  down  trudged  post-card  sellers, 
and  sake  bearers  with  trays  of  shallow,  lacquer  cups. 
The  air  shimmered  with  a  fine  white  dust  from  the 
thousands  of  wooden  clogs,  and  the  trees  were  sibi- 
lant with  the  tumult  of  the  semi. 

The  procession  seemed  interminable.  Priests 
rode  on  horseback,  clothed  in  black  gauze  robes  with 
stoles  of  gold  brocade  and  queer,  winged  hats.  Aco- 
lytes marched  afoot  in  green  or  yellow  with  stoles  of 
black,  like  huge  parti-colored  beetles.  Groups  of 
bearers  in  white  houri  carried  brass  altar  furniture, 
great  drums  fantastically  painted,  ancient  chain-ar- 
mor and  tall  banners  of  every  tint.  The  center  of 
interest  was  a  sacred  mikoshi,  or  palanquin,  holding 
the  divine  symbols,  elaborately  carved  and  gold-lac- 
quered, borne  by  sixty  men  in  white,  with  cloths  of 
like  hue  bound  turban-wise  about  their  foreheads. 
Around  these  circled  drum-beaters  and  pipe-players, 
making  an  indescribable  medley  of  sounds.  The  god 
entered  into  his  devotees.  The  palanquin  tossed  like 
the  waves  of  the  sea.  The  bearers  howled  and 
chanted  gutturally.  Sweat  poured  from  their  faces. 
Some  of  them  smiled  and  danced  as  they  staggered 
on  under  the  immense  bearing-poles. 

Austen  Ware  saw  the  strain  on  Barbara's  face. 
"You  are  tired,"  he  said.  "Let  us  go  back  to  the 
hotel." 

"Where  is  Patsy?"  she  asked. 
327 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"She  went  with  the  bishop  to  see  the  priestesses 
dance  at  the  temple.  But  we  can  skip  that." 

He  drew  her  out  of  the  crowd  and  they  walked 
slowly  down  a  side  street  to  the  road  that  skirts  the 
brawling  Alpine  torrent,  rushing  between  its  steep 
stone  banks.  Here  the  spray  filled  the  air  with  a 
cool  mist  and  the  westerning  sun  tied  the  seething 
water  with  silver  tasseling.  Caravans  of  panier- 
laden  Chinese  ponies  passed  them,  led  by  women  in 
tight  blue  breeches  with  sweat-bands  about  their 
heads,  and  squads  of  uncomfortable  tourists  bound 
to  Chuzenji,  the  summer  capital  of  the  Corps  Diplo- 
matique, crumpled  in  sagging  red-blanketed  chairs 
hanging  from  the  bearing-poles  of  lurching,  bronze- 
muscled  coolies.  Young  peasant  girls  trotted  by 
swinging  baskets  of  yellow  asters  and  purple  morn- 
ing-glories. A  rick'sha  carried  a  baby  with  gay-col- 
ored dolls  and  painted  cats  of  papier-mache  tied 
behind  it,  on  its  way  to  the  family  shrine  where  the 
toys  could  be  blessed.  The  rick'sha  man  was  smiling, 
but  his  cough  rattled  against  Barbara's  heart.  A 
line  of  white-robed  Buddhist  pilgrims  trudged  along 
under  mushroom  hats,  with  rosaries  crossed  over 
their  breasts  and  little  bells  tinkling  at  their  girdles 
on  their  way  to  worship  the  Sun  on  the  sacred 
mountain  of  Nantai-Zan.  Now  and  then  the  cut- 
velvet  of  the  hills  rolled  back  to  display  clumps  of 
dwellings — the  wizard-gray  of  thatched  roofs  set  in 
a  rippling  sea  of  leaves — and  green  flights  of  worn 

328 


THE  SHADOW  OF  A  TOMORROW 

stone  steps,  staggering  up  to  weird  old  temples 
where  droning  priests  were  ever  at  prayer.  At  the 
bottom  of  the  road  the  stream  narrowed  to  a  gorge, 
spanned  by  the  sacred  red-lacquer  bridge  which  no 
foot  save  the  Emperor's  may  ever  tread.  On  the 
farther  side  the  wooded  hills  rose  in  fantastic,  top- 
heavy  shapes  like  a  mad  artist's  dream.  Every- 
where they  were  split  and  seamed  by  landslide, 
gashed  by  torrents  and  typhoon,  but  covered  with  a 
wealth  and  splendor  of  color.  Here  and  there  cen- 
tury-old cryptomeria  stood  like  gray-green  bronze 
pillars,  towering  over  younger  forests  as  straight 
and  symmetrical  as  Noah's-ark  trees. 

As  they  walked,  Ware  chatted  of  his  trip  up  the 
China  coast — an  interesting  recital  that  took  Barbara 
insensibly  out  of  herself.  More  than  once  he  looked 
at  her  curiously.  Since  that  fateful  hour  when  he 
had  stood  behind  the  shikiri,  he,  like  Barbara,  had 
gone  through  much  to  look  so  unflurried.  He  had 
known  moments  of  bitterness  that  were  galling  and 
stinging,  and  that  left  behind  them  a  sense  of  degra- 
dation. But  he  held  to  his  course.  So  short-lived 
a  thing  as  her  love  for  Daunt  must  wither !  "It  will 
pass,"  he  had  told  himself,  "and  she  will  turn  to 
me." 

The  trip  to  Nikko  had  encouraged  him.  It  had 
been  the  time  of  the  bishop's  regular  spring  visit  and 
Barbara  had  welcomed  the  opportunity  to  leave 
Tokyo,  which  was  so  full  of  painful  memories.  Pa- 

329 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

tricia  adored  Japan's  "Temple  Town"  and  Ware 
had  joined  the  party  there  with  as  little  delay  as 
was  seemly.  In  the  three  days  of  the  poignant 
mountain  air  Barbara  had  seemed  to  Patricia  to  be 
more  like  her  old  self.  She  could  not  guess  the 
strength  of  the  effort  this  had  cost  or  the  fierceness 
of  the  fight  Barbara's  pride  was  making. 

It  was  sunset  when  they  mounted  the  steep  road 
to  the  hotel — a  long,  two-storied,  modern  structure, 
whose  gardens  and  red  balconies  gave  it  a  subtle 
Japanese  flavor.  On  one  side  of  the  building  the 
ground  fell  in  a  precipitous  descent  to  the  rocky  bed 
of  the  river,  whose  rush  made  a  restful  monotone 
like  wind  sighing  through  linden  trees.  Behind  it 
the  height  rose  abruptly,  and  up  its  side  clambered 
a  twisting  path,  from  which  a  light  foot-bridge 
sprang  to  the  upper  piazzas.  The  path  led  to  a  shrine 
a  hundred  yards  above,  set  beside  an  old  wisteria 
tree,  musical  with  the  chirp  of  the  "silver-eye,"  and 
fluttering  with  countless  paper  arrows  of  prayer. 
Before  it  were  two  wooden  benches,  and  from  this 
eyrie  one  could  look  down  on  the  hotel  with  its 
graceful  balconies,  and  far  below  the  tumbling 
stream  with  its  guarded  red-lacquer  arch. 

Ware  walked  with  Barbara  up  the  path  to  the 
foot-bridge.  Near  its  entrance  a  small  stand  had 
been  placed  and  on  it  was  a  phonograph,  its  ungainly 
trumpet  pointing  down  toward  the  stretch  of  lawn. 
A  heavy  red-bearded  man,  in  a  warm  frock-coat,  a 

330 


THE  SHADOW  OF  A  TOMORROW 

white  waistcoast  and  a  silk  hat  pushed  far  back  on 
his  head,  was  laboring  over  this,  and  a  plump  lady 
stood  near-by,  fanning  her  beaming  face  with  a 
pocket-handkerchief. 

They  greeted  Barbara  heartily. 

"Good  afternoon,"  said  the  husband.  "You  can't 
guess  what  me  and  Martha  are  up  to,  can  you  ?" 

"The  samisen  concert  to-night?"  she  hazarded. 

"Right!"  he  said.  "First  crack  out  of  the  box, 
too!  I'm  going  to  take  a  record  of  it."  He  tapped 
the  cylinder.  "This  is  a  composition  of  my  own.  I 
leave  it  out  here  all  night  to  harden,  and  then  I  give 
it  a  three  days'  acid  bath  that  makes  it  as  hard  as 
steel.  It'll  last  for  ever.  Now  what  do  you  suppose 
I'm  going  to  do  with  the  record  ?  I'm  going  to  give 
it  to  you." 

The  lady  beside  him  nodded  and  smiled.  "He's 
been  planning  it  ever  since  he  heard  you  say  the 
other  day  that  you  liked  samisen  music,"  she  said. 

"You  see,"  he  went  on  with  a  laugh.  "I  haven't 
forgotten  that  line  of  talk  your  uncle  gave  me  on 
the  train,  my  first  day  in  Japland.  It  did  me  a  lot  of 
good.  I  guess  what  he  doesn't  know  about  it  isn't 
worth  telling,"  he  added  with  a  glance  at  Ware. 

"He  is  an  authority,  of  course,"  said  Ware. 

"Well,  I'm  an  authority,  too — on  phonographs. 
And  if  you'd  accept  this,  Miss  Fairfax — " 

"I  shall  be  delighted!"  said  Barbara  warmly.  "I 
shall  value  it  very,  very  highly." 

331 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

She  smiled  back  at  them  over  her  shoulder.  The 
frank,  honest  kindliness  of  the  couple  pleased  her. 

The  piazza,  opened  into  a  small  sitting-room  with 
cool  bamboo  chairs  and  portieres  of  thin  green  silk 
stenciled  with  maple-leaves. 

"Will  you  wait  a  moment,  Barbara  ?"  asked  Ware. 
"I  have  something  to  show  you." 

She  stopped,  looking  at  him  with  a  trace  of  con- 
fusion. "Certainly,"  she  answered.  "What  is  it?" 

He  put  a  folded  paper  into  her  hands.  "To-day 
is  the  anniversary  of  our  meeting,"  he  said.  "This 
is  a  memento." 

She  took  it  with  a  puzzled  look  and  scrutinized  it. 
Wonder  filled  her  face.  "You  have  made  over  your 
yacht  to  me !"  she  cried. 

"My  engagement  gift,"  he  said.  "She  is  your 
namesake ;  I  want  her  to  be  yours." 

A  flush  crept  over  her  cheek.  She  knew  the 
yacht  was  his  favorite  possession  and  the  action 
touched  her.  At  the  same  time  it  brought  swiftly 
home  to  her,  in  a  concrete  way,  a  numbing  reminder 
of  the  imminence  of  her  marriage. 

"The  deed  has  been  recorded,"  he  went  on,  "and 
the  sailing-master  and  crew  have  signed  articles  un- 
der the  new  owner.  Perhaps  you  will  let  me  come 
aboard  of  her  to  hear  that  samiscn  record,"  he  added 
whimsically.  "There's  a  phonograph  in  her  outfit." 

She  smiled,  a  little  tremulously.  "You  are  most 
332 


THE  SHADOW  OF  A  TOMORROW 

kind,  Austen,"  she  said.  "I — I  don't  know  what  to 
say." 

"Then  say  nothing,"  he  answered  cheerfully.  He 
stepped  to  the  door  and  drew  aside  the  portiere.  She 
was  agitated,  feeling  unable  to  meet  the  situation  in 
the  conventional  way.  At  the  threshold  she  paused 
and  held  out  her  hand. 

He  bent  and  kissed  it.  She  half-hesitated,  but  in 
the  pause  there  was  a  laughing  voice  and  a  footstep 
in  the  hall. 

"It's  Patsy,"  she  said,  and  passed  quickly  out. 

As  Ware  walked  back  across  the  foot-bridge,  the 
proprietor  of  the  phonograph  called  to  him. 

"I  clean  forgot  to  ask  the  young  lady  where  to 
send  this  record,"  he  said.  "Do  you  know  her  ad- 
dress?" 

"It  will  be  more  or  less  uncertain,  I  fancy,"  said 
Ware.  "But  her  yacht  is  in  Yokohama  harbor.  It 
is  named  the  Barbara.  You  might  send  it  there." 


333 


CHAPTER  XLI 

UNFORGOT 

THE  sharp  sense  of  imminence  which  had 
come  to  Barbara  with  Austen  Ware's  gift  re- 
mained with  her  that  evening.  The  dinner 
was  none  too  merry.  For  the  first  time  Patricia  had 
failed  to  be  enthused  over  the  Nikko  matsuri,  and 
the  bishop,  since  Haru's  disappearance,  had  lacked 
his  usual  sallies.  Barbara  had  told  him  nothing  of 
her  visit  to  the  house  in  the  Street-of-the-Misty- Val- 
ley; to  speak  of  it  would  probe  her  own  wound  too 
deeply. 

The  after-dinner  piazza,  exhaled  the  bouquet  of 
evening  cigars  and  the  chatter  of  tourists.  Far 
below,  across  the  gorge,  lights  twinkled  in  native 
doorways  and  shoji  glimmered  like  oblong  yellow 
lanterns.  The  air  was  heavy  with  balsam  odors,  and 
beneath  the  trees,  sparkling  now  with  incandescents, 
tiny  black  moths  had  replaced  the  sunlight  flashing 
dragon-flies.  Sitting  in  a  semicircle  on  straw  mats 
the  samisen  players  at  length  mingled  their  outre, 
twittering  cadences  with  the  soft  thunder  of  the 
water. 

As  the  musicians  finished  their  last  number  and 
334 


UNFORGOT 

trooped  away,  Patricia  yawned  and  rose.  "Here," 
she  observed,  "is  where  little  Patsy  puts  her  face  and 
hands  to  bed.  This  mountain  air  is  perfectly  demor- 
alizing!" The  two  girls  went  up-stairs  together. 

At  her  own  room  Patsy  put  her  arms  around  the 
other  and  kissed  her.  "Oh,  I  wonder  if  you're 
sure!"  she  said.  Then  she  fled  inside. 

Barbara  threw  open  the  window  of  her  room  and 
drew  a  low  stool  to  the  balcony.  "I  wonder!"  she 
said  aloud.  With  elbows  on  the  railing  and  chin  in 
hands,  she  looked  long  and  earnestly  into  the  dark 
void.  Why  was  she  no  longer  able  to  warm  to  all 
this  beauty  and  meaning?  These  cryptomeria 
shadows,  dreaming  of  the  faded  splendors  of  a  feu- 
dal past — the  streets  along  which  legions  of  pilgrims 
had  walked  muttering  prayers  to  their  gods — the 
marvelous  lacquered  temples  of  red  and  gold, 
wrought  by  patient  love  of  long  dead  yesterdays,  in 
handiwork  to  which  time  had  given  a  softened  glory 
such  as  those  who  dreamed  them  never  saw — the 
heavenly  soaring  of  pagoda  doves  against  the  peach- 
blow  sky — the  shrines  worn  with  their  centuries  of 
worship  and  dancing  and  booming  bells !  Forgetting 
— and  remembering  no  more — would  that  be  a  soul- 
task  too  hard  for  her  ?  Was  all  that  had  been  instinct 
with  wonder  and  joy  to  be  henceforth  but  emptiness 
and  desolation — because  an  ideal  had  gone  from  her 
for  ever  ?  She  thought  of  the  belled  and  rosaried  pil- 
grims climbing  Nantai-Zan.  She  seemed  to  see  the 

335 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

faint,  far  glimmer  of  their  lanterns.  Beyond  that 
pilgrimage  over  dark  crags  and  grim  precipices  lay 
for  them  the  sunrise  of  hope ! 

In  the  room  behind  her  hung,  one  of  the  famous 
prints  of  Hiroshige,  the  great  Japanese  master — a 
group  of  peasants  crossing  the  long  skeleton  bridge 
of  Enoshima.  She  thought  of  this  now,  and  sud- 
denly all  the  spot  had  meant  to  her  welled  over  her. 
She  saw  again  the  enchanted  Island — the  long 
shaded  stairways  of  gray  stone,  the  brown-legged 
girls  gathering  seaweed,  and  beyond  the  old  seawall 
the  gulls  calling  to  their  mates.  She  saw  the  genera- 
tions of  lovers  pass  one  by  one  before  Ben-ten's  altar, 
murmuring  their  hearts'  desire.  Daunt's  arms 
seemed  to  be  again  around  her.  She  felt  his  kisses, 
heard  his  voice  as  they  walked  under  the  singing 
trees — walked  and  dreamed  and  forgot  that  pain  was 
ever  born  into  the  world. 

She  started.  A  horse  was  coming  up  the  hill,  his 
hoofs  thudding  softly  in  the  loose  shale.  The  rider 
dismounted  at  the  porch.  A  moment  later,  crop  in 
hand,  he  passed  beneath  her  window.  The  light  fell 
on  his  face.  Barbara's  heart  bounded  and  then  stood 
still,  for  she  recognized  him. 

"There  has  never  been  another  woman  to  me,  Bar- 
bara !"  Mocking  voices  seemed  to  shout  it  satirically 
from  the  emptiness,  and  against  the  dark  Haru's 
face  rose  up  before  her. 

336 


UNFORGOT 

She  shivered.  She  went  in  and  closed  the  window, 
drawing  down  the  blind  with  a  nervous  haste. 

But  she  could  not  shut  out  that  face,  and  in  spite 
of  herself  her  thoughts  had  their  will  with  her.  What 
was  Daunt  doing  there  ?  Patsy  had  said  that  he  was 
in  Chuzenji.  But  that  was  only  a  handful  of  miles 
away.  He  looked  worn  and  older — he  had  been  suf- 
fering, too !  She  hugged  this  knowledge  to  her  heart. 
He  knew,  of  course,  why  she  had  ended  it  all — Haru 
would  have  told  him! 

She  clenched  her  hands  and  began  to  pace  up  and 
down  the  room,  now  stopping  to  peer  with  bright 
miserable  eyes  into  the  mirror,  now  throwing  herself 
into  a  chair.  Once  she  put  her  hand  into  her  bosom, 
groping  for  her  father's  picture — to  withdraw  it 
with  an  added  pang.  For  she  had  forgotten ;  she  had 
lost  the  locket  the  afternoon  of  her  drive  with  Pa- 
tricia. 

A  knock  came  at  the  door,  and  a  bell-boy  handed 
her  a  penciled  note. 

She  read  it  wonderingly,  then,  hastily  smoothing 
Her  hair,  went  quickly  along  the  hall  to  the  sitting- 
room. 

In  the  dimly  lighted  room  a  figure  came  toward 
her  from  the  shadow.  It  was  Philip  Ware. 


337 


CHAPTER  XLII 

PHIL  MAKES  AN  APPEAL 

THE  youth  who  stood  before  her  now,  how- 
ever, was  not  the  Phil  Barbara  had  seen  at 
Mukojima.  There  was  no  hint  of  spruce 
grooming  in  his  attire ;  it  was  overlaid  with  the  dust 
and  grime  of  the  road.  The  jaunty,  self-satisfied 
look  was  ravaged  by  something  cringing,  that  sug- 
gested sleeplessness  and  undefined  anxiety.  Why 
should  he  come  at  such  an  hour — and  to  her?  The 
distaste  which  her  first  view  of  him  had  inspired  re- 
turned with  added  force  as  she  felt  the  touch  of  his 
hand  and  heard  herself  say : 

"So  this  is  'Phil/  I  have  often  heard  of  you  from 
your  brother.  Have  you  seen  him  ?" 

"No,"  he  said.  "I  don't  want  him  to  know  I'm 
here — yet,  I — I  came  to  see  you."  He  paused, 
twisting  his  cloth  cap  in  his  fingers. 

He  was  in  a  desperate  strait.  His  brothers  silence 
since  his  visit  to  the  house  in  Aoyama  (of  which 
Phil  had  learned  from  the  sen-ant)  had  seemed  to 
mean  the  worst.  The  place  had  contained  sufficient 
documents  in  evidence  as  to  his  mode  of  living,  and 

338 


PHIL  MAKES  AN  APPEAL 

the  reflection  opened  gloomy  vistas  of  poverty  from 
which  he  turned  with  abject  fear  and  dread.  There 
was  one  alternative,  and  this,  a  grisly  shadow,  had 
stalked  beside  him  since  an  evening  when  he  had 
dined  with  Bersonin.  It  had  peopled  his  sleep  with 
terrifying  visions  which  even  Haru  and  the  brandy 
had  been  unable  to  banish,  and  his  waking  hours  had 
been  haunted  by  the  expert's  yellowish  eyes.  Be- 
tween devil  and  deep  sea,  he  had  heard  of  his  broth- 
er's engagement,  and  the  wild  thought  of  appealing 
to  him  through  Barbara  had  come  to  him  as  a  for- 
lorn hope.  Now,  face  to  face  with  her,  he  found  the 
words  difficult  to  say. 

"Won't  you  sit  down  ?"  she  said,  and  took  a  chair 
opposite  him,  looking  at  him  inquiringly. 

"I  ought  to  apologize  for  a  rig  like  this,"  he  went 
on,  glancing  at  his  sorry  raiment,  "but  I  came  in  a 
friend's  motor,  and  I'm  going  back  to-night.  I 
thought  you  wouldn't  mind,  now — now  that  you  are 
engaged  to  marry  Austen.  You  are,  aren't  you?" 

She  inclined  her  head.  "Yes,"  she  said  slowly, 
"I  have  promised  to  marry  him." 

"Then  you  know  him  pretty  well,  and  you  know 
that  he — that  he  doesn't  altogether  approve  of  me." 

"I  have  never  heard  him  say  that,"  she  interrupted 
quickly. 

"It's  true,  though,"  he  rejoined  bitterly.  "He's  al- 
ways been  down  on  me.  I'm  not  staid  enough  for 
him.  He  made  his  money  by  grubbing,  and  he  thinks 

339 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

everybody  else  ought  to  do  the  same.   It's — it's  the 
matter  of  money  I  want  to  speak  to  you  about." 

He  paused  again.  "Yes  ?"  she  said. 

"Since  I  left  college,"  he  went  on,  "Austen  has  al- 
ways made  me  an  allowance.  But  I've  been  out  here 
a  year  now,  and  I — well,  you  know  what  the  East  is. 
I've  had  to  live  as  other  young  fellows  do,  and  I've 
spent  more  than  he  gives  me.  I've — played  some, 
too,  and  then  this  spring  I  got  hit  hard  at  the  races. 
It  was  just  a  run  of  bad  luck,  when  I  had  expected  to 
square  myself." 

He  was  eager  and  voluble  now.  She  seemed  to  be 
considering — he  was  making  an  impression.  He 
might  come  out  all  right  after  all !  His  volatile  spirits 
rose. 

"You  see,"  he  said,  "Austen  never  overlooks  any- 
thing. He's  as  likely  as  not  to  cut  me  off  entirely 
and  leave  me  high  and  dry.  I — I  thought  perhaps 
you  would — you  might  get  him  to  do  the  decent 
thing  and  help  me  out  of  the  hole.  If  I  once  got 
straight  I'd  stay  so,  but  I  want  a  fair  allowance.  It 
isn't  as  if  he  had  to  work  for  what  I  spend.  He 
ought  to  give  it  to  me.  I  can't  go  on  as  I  am ;  I'm 
in  debt — in  deep.  I  can't  take  up  my  chits  at  the 
club.  I'm  living  in  Tokyo  now — in  a  Japanese  house 
in  Aoyama  that  a  friend  has  loaned  me — because  I 
haven't  the  face  to  show  myself  in  Yokohama!" 

He  twirled  his  cap  and  looked  up  at  her.  "That 
reminds  me,"  he  said,  with  a  sudden  recollection. 

340 


"Austen  was  there  the  other  day  when  I  was  away, 
and  afterward  I  found  something  of  yours  which  he 
must  have  dropped.  Here  it  is.  It  has  your  name 
on  it."  He  handed  her  a  small  locket  with  a  broken 
chain. 

She  took  it  with  an  exclamation.  She  was  staring 
at  him  strangely.  "This  house  you  speak  of — whose 
is  it?" 

"It  belongs  to  Mr.  Daunt." 

"You  mean — you  say — that  you  have  been  living 
ink?" 

"Yes.  Why?" 

She  had  risen  slowly  to  her  feet,  her  face  hotly 
suffused.  "Then — then  Haru — "  She  spoke  in  a  dry 
whisper. 

He  started,  looking  at  her  with  quick,  resentful 
suspicion.  "What  do  you  know  about  Haru?" 

"Never  mind !  Never  mind  that !  I  want  to  know. 
Haru — she  is —  Mr.  Daunt  was  not — " 

"He  never  saw  her  in  his  life  so  far  as  I  know," 
he  answered  sulkily.  "What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?" 

For  an  instant  she  looked  at  him  without  a  word, 
her  fingers  working.  Then  she  began  to  laugh,  in  a 
low  tone,  wildly,  chokingly.  "Of  course !  Of  course ! 
What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  What  you  want  is  more 
money,  isn't  it !  That  is  all  you  came  to  tell  me !" 

He,  too,  was  on  his  feet  now,  uncertain  and  mis- 
trustful. Was  she  making  game  of  him?  He  saw 
Barbara's  gaze  go  past  him — to  fasten  on  something 

341 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

in  the  background.  He  turned.  In  the  doorway  with 
its  maple-leaf  portiere  stood  Austen  Ware. 

Barbara's  laugh  had  fallen  in  a  shuddering  breath 
that  was  like  a  sob.  "Here  is  your  brother  now,"  she 
said.  "Austen,  Phil  and  I  have  been  getting  ac- 
quainted. And  what  do  you  think?  He  has  found 
my  lost  locket."  She  held  it  up  toward  him. 

He  had  come  toward  them.  In  the  dim  light  his 
face  looked  very  white,  and  his  eyes  glittered  like 
quicksilver.  He  held  out  his  hand. 

"Why,  Phil!"  he  exclaimed.  "This  is  a  great  sur- 
prise. When  did  you  arrive,  and  are  you  at  this 
hotel?" 

Phil  had  stood  shamefaced.  At  the  tone,  however, 
which  seemed  an  earnest  of  renewed  favor,  he 
flushed  with  relief.  "I've  just  come,"  he  answered — 
"in  a  friend's  motor,  and  I  must  go  back  at  once.  But 
I'll  come  up  again  by  train  to-morrow,  if  you'd  like 
me  to." 

"Very  well,"  was  Ware's  reply.  "We'll  wait  till 
then  for  our  talk.  I'll  come  and  see  you  off."  Nei- 
ther of  the  others  caught  the  tense  repression  in  the 
tone  or  realized  that  his  smile  was  forced  and  unnat- 
ural, as  he  added :  "We  must  put  a  ban  on  late  hours, 
Barbara,  if  you  are  to  climb  Nantai-Zan  to-mor- 
row." 

She  went  to  the  door,  her  thoughts  in  a  tumult,  a 
wild  exhilaration  possessing  her.  She  wanted  to 
laugh  and  to  cry.  The  black,  cold  mist  that  had  en- 

342 


veloped  her  had  broken,  and  the  warm  sunlight  was 
looking  again  into  her  heart. 

"Good  night,  Phil,"  she  said.  "Thank  you  so  much 
for — for  bringing  me  the  locket.  You  can't  guess 
how  much  it  meant  to  me !'' 

As  the  silk  drapery  fell  behind  her,  the  self-control 
dropped  from  Austen  Ware's  face,  and  a  hell  of 
hatred  sprang  into  it.  Chance  had  given  Phil  the  one 
card  that  spelled  disaster,  and  chance  had  prompted 
him  to  play  it.  In  Barbara's  mind  Daunt  stood 
absolved!  He  saw  the  castle  he  had  been  building 
tottering  to  its  fall.  He  turned  on  his  brother  a 
countenance  convulsed  with  a  fury  of  passion  from 
which  Phil  shrank  startled. 

"Come,"  he  said  in  a  muffled  voice.  "We  can't 
talk  here."  He  led  the  way  through  the  hall  and 
across  the  foot-bridge  to  the  hillside,  gloomy  now, 
for  the  incandescents  in  the  trees  had  been  extin- 
guished. 

Phil  followed,  his  face  gone  white.  A  rack  stood 
at  the  outer  door,  and  his  fingers,  slipping  along  it  as 
he  passed,  closed  on  a  riding-crop. 

On  the  shrubberied  slope  Ware  turned.  One 
twitching  hand  dropped  on  his  brother's  shoulder; 
the  other  pointed  down  the  path. 

"Go,  damn  you!"  he  said,  "and  never  show  your 
face  to  me  again !  Not  one  cent  shall  you  have  from 
me!  Now  nor  hereafter — I  have  taken  care  of  that!" 

Phil  lifted  the  crop  and  struck  him  across  the  head 
34S 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

— two  savage,  heavy  blows.  Ware  staggered  and 
fell  backward  down  the  steep  declivity,  his  weight 
crashing  through  the  bushes  with  a  dull,  sickening 
sound. 

There  was  a  silence  in  which  Phil  did  not  breathe. 
The  stars  seemed  suddenly  very  bright.  From  an 
open  window  came  a  woman's  shrill,  careless  laugh, 
threading  the  hushed  roar  of  the  water  below.  The 
lighted  shoji  across  the  river  seemed  to  be  drifting 
nearer.  He  could  see  the  glow  of  a  forge  in  a  native 
smithy,  like  an  angry,  red-lidded  eye.  The  crop  fell 
from  his  grasp.  He  leaned  over,  staring  into  the 
dark. 

"Austen !"  he  whispered  hoarsely.  "Austen !" 

There  was  no  response.  As  he  gazed  fearfully  into 
the  shadow,  the  rising  moon,  peeping  through  a 
bank  of  cloud,  deluged  the  landscape  with  a  misty 
gossamer.  The  light  fell  on  the  phonograph.  Phil 
recoiled,  for  its  long  metal  trumpet  seemed  a  rigid 
arm  stretched  to  seize  him.  With  a  low  cry  he  turned 
and  fled. 

He  skirted  the  hill  to  the  hotel  stables,  where  Ber- 
sonin's  huge  motor-car  stood  silent.  The  Japanese 
chauffeur  was  curled  up  in  the  tonneau,  fast  asleep. 

Five  minutes  later  Barbara  heard  the  throb  of  the 
great  mechanism  speeding  down  the  shadowy  cryp- 
tomeria  road. 


344 


CHAPTER  XLIII 

THE  SECRET  THE  RIVER  KEPT 

DAUNT  had  dined  cheerlessly  in  the  deserted 
dining-room.  Afterward,  shrinking  from  the 
gay  piazzas,  he  had  struck  off  for  a  long  ram- 
bling walk.    Only  the  frail  moonlight,  glimpsing 
through  a  cloudy  sky,  lay  over  the  landscape,  when, 
returning,  worn  but  in  no  mood  for  sleep,  he  found 
himself  at  the  hill  shrine  looking  down  on  the  white 
hotel  with  its  long  red  balconies,  brightened  here  and 
there  by  the  lighted  window  of  some  late-retiring 
guest. 

His  few  days  at  Chuzenji  had  passed  in  a  kind  of 
stifled  fever.  The  report  of  Barbara's  engagement 
had  added  its  poisoned  barb.  That  morning,  how- 
ever, a  careless  remark  had  torn  across  his  mood  as 
sheet-lightning  tears  the  weaving  dusk.  Tokyo  was 
talking  of  it — of  him! — making  a  jest  of  that  sweet, 
dead  thing  in  his  heart?  The  thought  had  stung  his 
pride,  and  there  had  grown  in  him  a  sharp  sense  of 
humiliation  at  his  own  cowardice.  The  afternoon 
had  found  him  riding  down  the  mountain  trail  to 
Nikko.  To-morrow  he  would  go  back  to  Tokyo — to 

345 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

the  round  of  gaieties  that  would  now  be  hateful,  and 
to  his  work. 

He  put  out  his  hand  to  one  of  the  benches  in  the 
deep  pine-shadow,  but  drew  it  back  with  a  sharp 
breath.  A  sliver  of  the  warped  wood  had  pierced  his 
knuckle  to  the  bone. 

Frowning,  he  wrapped  the  bleeding  member  in 
his  handkerchief  and  sat  down  at  the  bench's  other 
end,  bitterly  absorbed.  The  vagrant,  intermittent 
moonlight  touched  the  tumbling  water  below  with 
creeping  silver,  and  on  the  horizon,  where  the  cloud- 
bank  frayed  away,  one  white  constellation  swung 
low,  a  cluster  of  lamps  in  golden  chains.  But  Daunt's 
thought  had  no  place  for  the  delicate  beauty  of  the 
night.  His  pipe  was  long  since  cold,  and  he  knocked 
out  the  dead  ashes  against  the  bench,  and  did  not 
relight  it.  He  thought  of  Tokyo,  that  to-morrow 
would  stretch  so  blank  and  irksome,  of  the  humdrum 
tedium  of  the  Chancery,  in  which  a  few  days  ago  he 
had  worked  so  blithely.  Then  all  had  been  interest 
and  beauty.  Now  the  future  stretched  before  him 
dull  and  savorless,  an  arid  Desert  of  Gobi,  through 
whose  thirsty  waste  he  must  trudge  on  for  ever  to  a 
comfortless  goal. 

How  long  he  sat  there  with  bowed  head  he  could 
not  have  told,  but  at  length  he  rose  heavily  to  his 
feet  As  he  did  so  he  became  aware  of  a  sound  below 
him — a  footfall,  coming  toward  him.  It  crossed  a 
bar  of  the  moonlight. 

346 


THE  SECRET  THE  RIVER  KEPT 

He  shrank,  and  a  tremor  ran  over  him,  for  it  was 
Barbara. 

She  had  thrown  over  her  a  loose  cloak,  and  a  bit 
of  soft,  clinging  lace  showed  between  its  dark  edges. 
Her  brilliant  hair  was  loosely  gathered  in  a  single 
braid,  and  in  the  moonlight  it  shone  like  beaten 
copper  against  the  vivid  pallor  of  her  face.  He  sat 
stirless,  smitten  with  confusion,  conscious  that  a 
movement  must  betray  him.  A  painful  embarrass- 
ment enveloped  him,  a  fastidious  sense  of  shrinking 
from  her  sight  of  him.  He  felt  a  dull  wave  of  re- 
sentment that  an  antic  irony  of  circumstance  should 
have  brought  them  beneath  the  same  roof — to  make 
him  seem  the  moody  pursuer,  the  unwelcome  tres- 
passer on  her  reserve — and  that  now  thrust  him 
into  a  position  which  at  any  hazard  he  would  have 
shunned.  But  all  thought  of  himself,  all  feeling  save 
one  vanished,  when,  with  sudden  piteous  abandon, 
she  threw  herself  on  her  knees  by  the  bench  and 
broke  into  slow  sobs,  shuddering  and  tearless. 

In  that  outbreak  of  emotion,  were  not  alone  the 
pent-up  pain  and  humiliation  she  had  suffered,  or  the 
desperate  joy  of  that  evening's  knowledge.  There 
were  in  it,  too,  grief  and  compunction,  dismay  and 
doubt  of  the  future.  She  was  engaged  to  Austen 
Ware.  Would  Daunt  ever  forgive  ?  Would  he  want 
her — now?  In  the  first  realization  of  her  error, 
wound  with  the  knowledge  that  he  was  so  near  her, 
she  had  felt  only  joy ;  but  in  the  silence  of  her  room, 

347 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

shock  on  shock  had  come  the  incredulous  question, 
the  burning  revulsion.  A  while  she  had  lain  wide- 
eyed,  but  at  length,  sleepless,  she  had  stolen  out  to 
the  balmy,  fragrant  night,  craving  its  peace,  longing 
passionately  for  its  soft  shadows  and  the  hovering 
touch  of  the  mountain's  breath  on  her  hair.  And  in 
its  friendly  shadows  the  gust  of  feeling  had  -swept 
her  from  her  feet. 

The  action  took  Daunt  wholly  by  surprise.  The 
sound  tore  his  heart  like  a  ruthless  talon,  and  drew 
a  hoarse  word  from  his  lips : 

"Barbara !"  It  was  little  more  than  a  whisper,  but 
she  sprang  erect  with  a  gasp,  her  breath  labored  and 
terror-stricken. 

"I — I  beg  pardon,"  he  said,  with  a  dry  catch  in  his 
throat.  "Don't  be  frightened.  I  will  go  at  once.  I 
should  not  have  stayed.  But  you  came  so  suddenly, 
and  I  did  not  dream — I — " 

"How  strange  that  you  should  have  been  here!" 
She  thought  he  must  hear  the  loud  drumming  of  her 
pulse. 

He  laughed — a  hard,  colorless  little  laugh.  "Yes," 
he  answered,  "it  seems  so." 

A  mist  blinded  her  eyes,  for  his  tone  carried  to 
her,  even  more  sharply  than  had  the  look  she  had 
seen  from  the  balcony,  a  sense  of  the  pain  he  had  un- 
dergone. In  what  words  could  she  tell  him  ? 

"You  have  been  suffering,"  she  said  in  a  low 
voice.  "I  see  that.  And  it  was  my  fault." 

348 


THE  SECRET  THE  RIVER  KEPT 

He  gathered  himself  together  with  an  effort  of 
will,  to  still  the  tingle  that  flashed  along  his  nerves. 
"It  was  quite  sane  and  right,  no  doubt,"  he  said. 
"When  I  have  learned  to  be  honest  enough  with  my- 
self, I  shall  see  it  so.  My  mistake  was  in  ever  dream- 
ing that  I  was  worth  one  of  your  thoughts  or  a  single 
second's  memory." 

She  turned  her  head  abruptly.  "Do  you  hear  some 
one  talking?  I  thought  I  heard  it  as  I  came  up  the 
path — like  some  one  muttering  to  himself." 

He  listened,  but  there  was  no  sound. 

"I  must  have  imagined  it,"  she  said.  There  was  a 
moment's  pause,  and  presently  she  went  on : 

"You  have  been  thinking  hard  things  of  me.  It  is 
natural  that  you  should.  And  yet  I — whatever  you 
think — whatever  you  do — that  day  in  the  cave,  I  was 
not — was  not — " 

"You  were  nothing  you  should  not  have  been," 
he  replied  rapidly.  Her  voice  had  sent  a  tremor 
over  him — he  felt  it  with  a  new  wave  of  the  morn- 
ing's contempt.  "I  understand.  There  is  nothing  for 
you  to  justify,  nothing  to  regret." 

She  shook  her  head.  "We  have  left  undone  those 
things  which  we  ought  to  have  done,"  she  quoted  in 
a  low  voice,  "and  have  done  those  things  which  we 
ought  not  to  have  done,  and  there  is  no  health  in  us. 
We  all  recite  that  every  Sunday.  I  have  something 
now  to  confess  to  you.  Won't  you  stand  there  in  the 
light?  I — I  want  to  see  your  face." 

349 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

He  stepped  slowly  into  a  bar  of  moonlight. 

"Why,''  she  said,  "you  have  hurt  your  hand!" 
She  made  a  quick  step  toward  him,  her  eyes  on  the 
stained  bandage. 

"It  is  nothing,"  he  said  hastily.  "I  struck  it  a  lit- 
tle while  ago.  What — " 

He  turned,  suddenly  alert.  A  sharp  whistle  had 
sounded  below  them,  and  bright  points  here  and 
there  pricked  the  gloom.  "They  have  turned  on  the 
tree-lights,"  he  said.  There  was  a  sound  of  voices  on 
the  path.  Some  one  ran  across  the  foot-bridge. 

"Something  has  happened,"  she  said.  "What  can 
it  be?" 

He  made  no  reply.  There  had  flashed  to  him  a 
quick  realization  of  the  position  in  which,  unwit- 
tingly, they  had  placed  themselves.  She  must  not  be 
seen  at  such  an  hour,  in  that  lonely  spot  with  him! 
He  knew  the  canons  of  the  world  he  lived  in !  With 
a  hushed  word  he  drew  her  back  into  the  shadow. 

The  voices  were  speaking  in  Japanese,  and  now  he 
heard  them  clearly.  "Some  one  is  injured,"  he  told 
her.  "He  fell  down  the  hillside,  they  think."  A  hur- 
ried step  crossed  the  bridge,  and  a  voice,  sharp  and 
peremptory,  asked  a  question  in  nervous  English. 
Daunt  chilled  at  the  answer,  turning  to  her,  every 
unselfish  instinct  alive  to  spare  her. 

But  she  had  heard  a  name.  "It  is  Mr.  Ware  who  is 
hurt!" 

He  grasped  her  wrist.  "Wait !"  he  said  hurriedly. 
350 


THE  SECRET  THE  RIVER  KEPT 

"I  beg  you  to  go  by  the  upper  path  to  the  side  door." 
But  she  caught  away  her  arm  and  ran  quickly  down 
the  path. 

Daunt  sprang  up  the  hill,  skirted  the  building, 
gained  its  upper  corridor,  now  simmering  with  ex- 
citement, and  crossed  the  bridge.  Near  its  farther 
end  a  small  group  stood  about  a  figure,  prostrate  be- 
side the  phonograph  whose  cylinder  gleamed  in  the 
lantern-light.  By  it  Barbara  was  kneeling. 

But  something  came  between  her  gaze  and  the 
pallid  face — something  which  she  saw  with  the  dis- 
tinctness of  a  black  paper  silhouette  on  a  white 
ground :  a  glimmering  object,  unnoted  by  the  rest, 
which  had  lain  half-concealed  by  a  bush — some- 
thing that  one  day,  a  thousand  years  ago,  had  glit- 
tered against  Daunt's  brown  hair  as  he  saluted  her 
from  his  horse!  It  was  a  riding-crop,  whose  Da- 
mascene handle  bore  the  device  of  a  fox's  head. 

Two  hours  later  the  corridors  were  silent  and  the 
bishop  and  Daunt  sat  together  in  the  darkened 
office,  saying  few  words,  both  thinking  of  a  man 
lying  straight  and  alone — and  of  a  girl  in  an  upper 
room  whose  promise  he  had  taken  with  him  out  of 
the  world.  Daunt  was  to  leave  for  Tokyo  on  the 
early  morning  train.  Half  the  night  through  he  sat 
there  listening  to  the  moan  of  the  rising  weather. 

But  a  little  while  before  the  sky  whitened  to  a 
rainy  dawn,  a  gray  wraith  glided  along  the  upper 

351 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

piazza  of  the  hotel.     It  crossed  the  foot-bridge  to 
the  hillside. 

Barbara  groped  and  found  the  crop.  Across  the 
night  she  seemed  to  see  an  endless  procession  of 
stolid,  sulphur-colored  figures,  linked  with  thin,  rat- 
tling chains,  filing  into  the  humid,  black  mouth  of  a 
mine.  Shuddering,  she  swung  the  stick  with  all  her 
strength,  and  threw  it  from  her  down  the  steep,  into 
the  water  that  roared  and  tumbled  far  below. 


352 


CHAPTER    XLIV 

THE  LAYING  OF  THE   MINE 

DOCTOR  BERSONIN  lunched  at  the  Tokyo 
Club. 

For  three  days  the  rain  had  fallen  steadily, 
in  one  of  those  seasons  of  torrential  downpour  which 
in  Japan  are  generally  confined  to  the  typhoon  sea- 
son and  which  flood  its  low-lands,  turn  its  creeks 
into  raging  rivers  and  play  havoc  with  its  bridges. 
For  three  days  the  sky  had  been  a  dull  expanse  of 
pearl-gray,  and  the  city  a  waste  of  drenched  green 
foliage  and  gleaming  tile,  whose  roadways  were 
lines  of  brown  mud  with  a  surface  of  thin  glue, 
dotted  with  glistening  umbrellas  of  oil-paper  and 
bamboo.  Under  their  trickling  eaves  the  shop- 
fronts,  dark  and  hollow  and  comfortless,  had  held 
the  red  glow  of  hibachi;  teamsters  had  shown  brist- 
ling tunics  of  rice-straw  and  loads  covered  with 
saffron  tarpaulin ;  rick'sha  had  reeled  past  with  rub- 
ber fronts  tightly  buttoned  against  the  slanting 
spears  of  rain,  and  the  foreign  carriages  that 
dragged  by  had  borne  coachmen  swathed  to  the  ears. 
This  morning,  however,  the  rain  had  ceased  and 
wind  had  supervened. 

353' 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

The  Club  was  cheerful,  with  a  sprinkling  of  the 
younger  diplomatic  set,  Japanese  business  men  and 
journalists,  all  men  of  note.  The  up-stairs  dining- 
room  was  full  of  talk  as  the  expert  arrived  and 
chose  a  small  table  by  himself. 

While  he  waited,  the  boy  brought  him  one  of  the 
English-printed  newspapers,  and  he  cast  his  eyes 
over  the  head-lines.  He  read  : 

SQUADRON'S  SAILING  ORDERS 


To  Leave   To-morrow   Morning.     An 
Answer  to  the  Alarmists. 


All  Differences  Between  the  Two  Gov- 
ernments to  Yield  to 
Diplomacy. 


On  the  other  side  was  the  caption  in  smaller  type : 

BEAR  RAID  OX   MARKETS 


Mysterious    Selling    Movement 
Causes  Uneasiness. 

He  read  the  latter  despatch — an  Associated  Press 
wire,  under  a  New  York  date-line : 

"At  noon  to-day  the  bear  movement, 
heretofore  regarded  as  a  natural  reaction 
following  an  over-advancement,  and  hence 
of  purely  academic  interest,  suddenly  as- 

354 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  MINE 

sumed  such  proportions  as  to  make  the  out- 
look one  of  anxiety.  It  seems  significant 
that  before  the  Wall  Street  opening  this 
morning  the  London  market  responded  to 
an  attack  of  the  same  nature.  In  an  era  of 
industrial  prosperity  and  general  peace 
such  a  phenomenon  is  alarming,  and  a  seri- 
ous decline  is  anticipated  in  some  quarters. 
The  short  sales  which  were  such  a  factor 
in  to-day's  market  were  so  distributed  that 
it  seems  impossible  to  trace  them  to  any 
single  interest." 

Bersoniir  s  face  expressed  nothing.  He  folded  the 
crackling  sheet  and  laid  it  to  one  side. 

Most  of  the  comment  about  him  turned  on  the 
departure  of  the  Squadron.  Since  the  royal  death, 
whose  announcement  had  so  abruptly  ended  the 
festivities,  the  black  battle-ships  had  lain  motionless 
in  the  bay.  The  appointment  of  a  regent  of  con- 
fessedly more  positive  policy  had  given  rise  to  many 
speculations,  and  the  apostles  of  calamity  had  seized 
the  opportunity  to  sow  the  seeds  of  disquiet.  The 
great  world,  however,  had  as  yet  given  little  thought 
to  their  prognostications.  The  bourses  had  gone 
higher  and  higher.  Only  in  diplomatic  circles, 
where  the  mercury  is  habitually  unquiet,  had  there 
been  perceptible  effect.  To-day  the  comment  showed 
a  sub-tone  of  relief. 

The  doctor  ate  little.  He  left  the  petit  vcrre  with 
355 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

his  coffee  untouched,  signed  his  chit  and  went  down 
to  his  automobile. 

"Bersonin  must  be  under  the  weather,"  one  of  the 
men  at  another  table  observed,  as  he  passed  them. 
"He  looks  like  a  putty  image." 

"Curious  chap,"  remarked  the  other.  "Got  a  lot 
in  his  head,  no  doubt.  Some  queer  stories  afloat 
about  him,  but  I  don't  suppose  there's  anything  in 
them." 

The  other  lit  his  cigar  reflectively.  "I  can't  some- 
how 'go'  him,  myself,"  he  said. 

Bersonin  was  whirled  to  his  house,  and  presently 
was  in  his  laboratory  with  its  glass  shelves,  its  books 
and  its  wall-safe.  A  cheerful  fire  burned  in  the  grate 
against  the  dampness. 

He  began  to  walk  restlessly  up  and  down  the 
floor.  To-day  his  government  contract  expired  and 
Japan  had  not  asked  its  renewal.  He  thought  of 
this  with  a  sudden  recrudescence  of  the  hatred  he 
had  nurtured  for  the  Empire.  This  had  been  based 
on  fancied  slights,  on  his  failure  to  receive  a  decora- 
tion, on  the  surveillance  he  had  lately  imagined  had 
been  kept  on  his  movements.  Well,  to-morrow 
would  repay  all  with  interest!  There  was  no  hitch 
in  the  plan  which  chance  had  aided  so  well.  The 
Roost  was  the  one  house  on  the  Yokohama  Bluff 
that  could  have  served  his  purpose,  planted  on  the 
cliff-edge  and  in  line  with  the  anchorage.  And  it 

356 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  MINE 

had  happened  to  be  in  the  hands  of  this  weak  fool 
for  his  cat's-paw ! 

His  great,  cunning  brain  turned  to  the  future — to 
that  vast  career  which  his  stupendous  egotism  had 
painted  for  himself.  His  discovery  was  so  epoch- 
making,  so  terrifying  in  its  possibilities  to  civiliza- 
tion, that  it  had  nonplussed  him.  It  was  too  big  to 
handle.  He  had  made  the  greatest  dynamic  engine 
the  world  had  seen — possibly  the  greatest  it  would 
ever  see — and  yet  he  knew  that  the  Ambassador  had 
laid  his  finger  on  the  truth  when  he  had  said: 
"Humanity  would  revolt!  The  man  who  knew  the 
secret  would  be  too  dangerous  to  be  at  large!" 

But  with  wealth — wealth  enough  to  buy  men  and 
privilege — what  might  he  not  do?  It  would  take 
time,  and  scheming,  and  secrecy,  but  he  had  them 
all.  And  the  great  secret  was  always  his,  and  his 
alone!  It  would  make  him  more  powerful  than 
Emperors,  for  he  who  possessed  it,  with  the  means 
to  use  it,  could  laugh  at  fleets  and  fortifications. 
Before  the  machines  that  he  should  build  the  great- 
est steel-clad  that  was  ever  floated  would  vanish  like 
smoke!  He  clenched  his  great  hands  and  his  mas- 
sive frame  quivered. 

"The  future,  the  future!"  he  said  in  a  low,  tense 
voice.  "I  shall  be  greater  than  Caesar,  greater  than 
Napoleon,  for  I  shall  hold  the  force  that  can  make 
and  unmake  kings!  So  surely  as  force  rules  the 
world,  so  surely  shall  I,  Bersonin,  rule  the  world!" 

357 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

A  knock  came  at  the  door  and  Phil  entered.  He 
was  as  pale  as  the  doctor  and  his  clothing  was 
soaked  with  the  rain.  Without  a  word  Bersonin 
locked  the  door,  wheeled  an  arm-chair  before  the 
blaze,  pushed  him  into  it  and  mixed  him  a  glass  of 
spirits.  Then  he  stood  looking  at  him. 

"It's  all  right,"  said  Phil.  "The  tripod  fitted  to  a 
hair.  It  can't  be  seen  from  either  side,  and  I've  sent 
the  boy  away  and  locked  the  house." 

"Good,"  said  Bersonin.  "All  is  ready,  then.  The 
mechanism  is  set  for  the  moment  of  daybreak.  Our 
gains  will  be  enormous,  for  in  spite  of  the  selling  the 
market  is  up.  There  has  been  a  little  distrust  of  the 
situation  here  and  there,  though  the  optimists  have 
had  their  way.  And  this  latent  distrust  will  add  to 
the  debacle  when  it  comes.  We  are  just  in  time,  for 
the  Squadron  has  its  sailing-orders  for  to-morrow. 
Strange  how  near  we  were  to  failure!  Who  could 
have  foreseen  the  death  of  the  King  ?  And  the  rains, 
too.  They  say  it  is  doubtful  if  the  trains  will  run 
to-morrow." 

Phil's  hand,  holding  the  drink,  shook  and  wa- 
vered. 

"The  damned  clock-work  in  the  thing!"  he  said. 
"I  could  hear  it  all  the  way — I  thought  every  one 
would  hear  it.  I  can't  get  the  ticking  out  of  my 
brain !"  He  set  down  the  glass  and  turned  a  glitter- 
ing gaze  on  the  other. 

"It's  worth  all  that  comes  from  it,"  he  said.  "You 
358 


THE  LAYING  OF  THE  MINE 

play  me  fair !  Do  you  understand  ?  You'll  play  me 
fair,  or  I'll  settle  with  you!" 

The  doctor  smiled,  a  smile  of  horrible  cunning. 

"As  you  settled  with  your  brother?"  he  said. 

Phil  shrank  into  the  chair  speechless,  looking  at 
him  with  trepidation  in  his  eyes.  The  shot  had 
gone  home. 

"Pshaw!"  said  Bersonin.  "Do  you  take  me  for  a 
fool  not  to  guess  ?  Come,  we  needn't  quarrel.  Our 
interests  are  the  same.  Go  home,  now,  to  your 
Japanese  butterfly — and  wait !" 


359 


CHAPTER   XLV 

THE   BISHOP   ANSWERS   A   SUMMONS 

THE  Chapel  was  but  sparsely  filled.  From 
where  she  sat,  Barbara,  through  the  open 
door,  could  see  the  willows  along  the  discon- 
solate roadway  whipping  in  the  fleering  dashes  of 
wind.  A  woman  trudged  by,  bare-legged,  her 
kimono  tucked  knee-high,  the  inevitable,  swaddled 
baby  on  her  back.  The  hot,  fibrous  song  of  the  semi 
had  died  to  a  thin  humming,  like  bees  in  an  old 
orchard.  Across  the  bishop's  voice  she  heard  the 
plaintive  call  of  a  huckster,  swinging  by  in  slow  dog- 
trot with  panier-pole  on  shoulder,  and  the  chirr  of  a 
singing-frog  under  the  hedge. 

The  service  was  in  the  vernacular,  and  though  she 
tried  to  follow  it  in  her  Romaji  prayer-book — whose 
words  were  printed  in  Roman  letters  instead  of  the 
Japanese  ideograph — the  lines  were  meaningless, 
and  she  could  not  fasten  her  mind  on  them. 

She  had  reached  a  point  in  these  few  tragical  days 
where  her  mind,  overwrought  with  its  own  pain, 
had  acquired  a  kind  of  benumbing  lassitude  that  was 
not  apathy  and  yet  was  far  removed  from  spontane- 
ous feeling.  Daunt's  presence  that  dreadful  night  on 

360 


THE  BISHOP  ANSWERS  A  SUMMONS 

the  hillside — his  confusion — his  bleeding  hand — his 
round-about  return  to  the  hotel — all  this,  at  the  sight 
of  the  Damascene  crop  in  the  bushes,  had  flashed  to 
her  mind  in  damnable  sequence.  And  yet  something 
deep  and  unfathomed  within  her  had  driven  her  to 
the  obliteration  of  that  mute  evidence.  Austen  Ware 
had  slipped  and  fallen — such  was  the  universal  ver- 
dict. The  truth  was  sealed  for  ever  in  the  urn  now 
bound  over-seas  to  its  last  resting-place.  She  alone, 
she  thought,  knew  the  secret  of  that  Nikko  tragedy. 

With  the  next  daylight  the  storm  had  broken  and 
the  ensuing  gloomy  weather  had  formed  a  dismal 
setting  for  gloomier  scenes,  through  which  she  had 
moved  dully  and  mechanically.  When  all  was  over, 
to  Patricia's  sorrow,  she  had  not  returned  to  the 
Embassy,  but  had  gone  immediately  to  her  uncle's. 
The  pity  offered  her — though  not  openly  expressed^ 
since  her  engagement  had  not  been  formally  an- 
nounced— hurt  her  like  physical  blows,  and  the  quiet 
of  the  Ts'kiji  rectory  was  some  solace.  To-night,  an 
unwelcome  task  lay  before  her.  She  was  to  visit  the 
yacht — now,  by  a  satiric  freak  of  chance,  legally  her 
own ! — to  seal  the  private  papers  of  the  man  whose 
deed  of  gift  might  not  now  be  recalled. 

As  she  sat  listening  to  the  meaningless  reading 
and  the  sighing  of  the  wind  above  the  Chapel  roof, 
Barbara's  eyes  on  the  stained-glass  figure  in  the  rose- 
window  were  full  of  a  wistful  loneliness.  If  her 

361 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

father  were  only  alive — if  he  could  be  near  her  now ! 
Unconsciously  her  gaze  strayed  across  the  hedges, 
to  the  gray  roof  of  the  old  temple  where  lived  the 
eccentric  solitary  to  whom  her  thought  insistently 
recurred.  In  her  trouble  she  longed  to  go  to  him, 
with  a  longing  the  greater  because  it  seemed  fan- 
tastic and  illogical.  She  recalled  suddenly  the  quaint 
six-year-old  of  the  huge  clogs  and  patched  kimono — 
Ishikichi,  troubled  over  the  giving  up  of  the  family 
establishment,  puzzling  his  baby  brain  over  the  hard 
things  of  life. 

She  was  startled  by  a  sound  outside — the  single, 
shrill,  high  scream  of  a  horse  in  some  stable  near  at 
hand.  It  cut  through  a  pause  in  the  service,  sharp, 
curdling,  like  a  cry  of  mortal  fear.  A  baby,  near 
Barbara,  awoke  and  began  to  cry  and  the  mother 
soothed  it  with  whispered  murmurings. 

Suddenly  there  arose  a  strange  rattling,  a  groan- 
ing of  timbers.  The  bishop  ceased  reading.  People 
were  rising  to  their  feet.  The  building  was  shifting, 
swaying,  with  a  sickening  upward  vibration,  as 
though  it  were  being  trotted  on  some  Brobdingnag- 
ian  knee.  Barbara  felt  a  qualm  like  the  first  touch  of 
mat  de  mer.  "Ji-shin!  Ji-shin!"  rose  the  cry,  and 
there  was  a  rush  for  the  open  air.  In  another  mo- 
ment she  found  herself  out  of  doors  with  the  fright- 
ened crowd. 

It  was  her  first  experience  of  earthquake,  and  the 
362 


THE  BISHOP  ANSWERS  A  SUMMONS 

terror  had  gripped  her  bodily.  The  wet  trees  were 
waving  to  and  fro  like  gigantic  fans,  and  a  dull  moan 
like  an  echo  in  a  subterranean  cavern  seemed  to  issue 
from  the  very  ground.  A  section  of  tiling  slid  from 
the  Chapel  roof  with  a  crash.  "Rather  severe  that, 
for  Tokyo,"  said  the  bishop  at  her  elbow,  where  he 
stood  calmly,  watch  in  hand.  "Almost  two  minutes 
and  vertical  movement." 

"Two  minutes !"  she  gasped.  She  had  thought  it 
twenty. 

The  nauseating  swing  had  ceased,  but  in  an  in- 
stant, with  a  vicious  wrench,  it  began  again.  "The 
secondary  oscillations,"  he  said.  "It  will  all  be 
over  in  a  .  .  ." 

As  he  spoke,  the  air  swelled  with  a  horrible, 
crunching,  grinding  roar,  like  the  complaint  of  a 
million  riven  timbers.  Across  the  lane  a  sinister 
dust-cloud  sprang  into  the  air  like  a  monstrous  hand 
with  spread  ringers.  "It  is  one  of  the  temples !"  said 
the  bishop,  and  hurried  with  the  rest,  Barbara  fol- 
lowing him. 

The  paved  yard  was  filling  with  a  throng.  Agi- 
tated priests  and  acolytes  ran  hither  and  thither  and 
slate-colored  nuns,  with  shaven  heads  and  pale, 
frightened  faces,  peered  through  the  bamboo-lattices 
of  the  nunnery.  The  newer  temple  faced  the  open 
space  as  usual,  but  across  the  hedged  garden  no 
ornate  roof  now  thrust  up  its  Tartar  gables.  Instead 

363 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

was  a  huddle  of  wreckage,  upon  which  lay  the  huge 
roof,  crumpled  and  shattered,  like  the  fragments  of 
a  gigantic  mushroom.  From  the  tangle  projected 
beam  ends,  coiled  about  with  painted  monsters,  and 
here  and  there  in  the  cluttered  debris  lay  great 
images  of  unfamiliar  deities.  Over  all  hung  a  fine 
yellow  dust,  choking  and  penetrating. 

What  was  under  those  ruins?  Barbara  shivered. 
She  was  quite  unconscious  of  the  mud  and  the  pelt- 
ing rain.  The  bishop  drew  her  under  the  temple 
porch,  and  they  stood  together  watching  the  men 
now  working  with  mattocks,  saws  and  with  loose 
beams  for  levers,  prying  up  a  corner  of  the  fallen 
roof.  It  seemed  an  hour  they  had  stood  there,  when 
a  priest,  bareheaded,  his  robes  caked  with  mud,  came 
from  the  clustering  crowd.  The  bishop  questioned 
him  in  Japanese.  Barbara  guessed  from  his  face 
what  the  priest  had  answered!  She  waited  quiver- 
ingly. 

Through  the  bishop's  mind  swift  thoughts  were 
passing.  He  knew  by  hearsay  of  the  recluse — knew 
that  he  was  not  an  Oriental.  He  had  often  seen  the 
placard  on  the  little  gate :  "Maker  of  Buddhas."  He 
had  never  passed  it  without  a  pang.  It  seemed  a 
satirical  derision  of  the  holiest  ideal  of  the  West — a 
type  and  sign  of  reversion,  a  sardonic  mockery  of 
the  Creed  of  Christ.  He  was  a  priest  holding  the 
torch  of  the  true  light  to  this  alien  people,  and  here, 

364 


THE  BISHOP  ANSWERS  A  SUMMONS 

a  dark  shadow  across  its  brightness,  had  stood  this 
derisive  denial.  Yet  now,  perhaps,  this  man  stood 
on  the  threshold  of  the  hereafter — and  he  was  a  man 
of  his  own  race ! 

He  turned  to  Barbara.  "Wait  here  for  me,"  he 
said.  "I  am  going  in.  I  will  come  back  to  you  as 
soon  as  I  can." 


365 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

THE   GOLDEN    CRUCIFIX 

THE  bishop  went  quickly  through  the  crowd 
to  a  gap  under  the  great  gables,  where  the 
beams  had  been  sawed  through  and  the  rub- 
bish shoveled  to  one  side,  making  a  difficult  way 
into  the  interior.  The  enormous  span  of  the  roof 
had  sunk  sidewise,  splitting  its  supporting  beams 
and  bending  the  walls  outward,  but  its  great  ridge 
had  remained  intact  and  it  now  stretched,  a  squat, 
ungainly  lean-to,  over  what  had  been  the  altar.  The 
space  was  strewn  with  brasses,  fragments  of  fretted 
and  carven  doors,  and  splintered  beneath  a  mass  of 
tiling  lay  a  great  image  of  Kwan-on.  The  daylight 
came  dimly  in  through  the  chinks  in  the  ruin.  The 
air  was  warm  and  close  and  had  a  smell  of  pulver- 
ized plaster,  of  stale  incense  and  rotting  wood.  A 
group  of  priests  stood  on  the  altar  platform  beside 
a  huddle  of  wadded  mats  and  brocaded  draperies,  on 
which  a  man  was  lying,  his  open  eyes  upturned  to 
the  painted  monsters  on  the  twisted  tangle  of  rafters. 
The  bishop  hesitated,  then  came  close. 
The  man's  head  turned  toward  him — for  an  in- 
stant he  seemed  to  shrink  into  the  cushions;  then  in 

366 


THE  GOLDEN  CRUCIFIX 

his  eyes,  dark  with  the  last  shadow,  came  a  swift 
yearning.  He  spoke  to  the  priests  and  they  drew 
back. 

"Arthur,"  he  said,  "don't  you  know  me?" 

A  gasping  sound  came  from  the  leaning  bishop. 
"John!  John  Fairfax!"  he  cried,  composure  drop- 
ping from  him,  and  fell  on  his  knees.  "After 
these  years!'' 

The  other  lifted  his  hand  and  touched  the  bishop's 
pale,  smooth-shaven  face. 

"I  am  going,  Arthur,"  he  said.  "I  never  intended 
to  speak,  though  I've  seen  you  often  ...  I 
thought  it  was  best.  Did  she — did  my  wife  never 
tell  you?" 

"Never  a  word,  John!  I  have  never  known!" 
cried  the  bishop,  in  a  shaken  voice. 

"It  was  my  fault.  All  mine!  I — never  believed 
as  she  did,  Arthur,  and  here  in  the  East  what  was 
breath  and  bread  to  her,  to  me  came  to  seem  all 
mumbo- jumbo.  I  had  had  a  hard  life,  and  I  wanted 
comfort — for  her.  Then  I  found  out  about  the  gold- 
lacquer." 

He  paused  to  gather  the  strength  that  was  fast 
ebbing. 

"I  got  the  formula  from  a  crazy  priest,  and  I 
began  in  a  small  way — the  idol-making,  I  mean.  I 
had  a  shop  at  Saga.  At  first  it  was  only  for  the 
mandarins  in  the  China  trade,  and  ...  no  one 
knew.  But  the  lacquer  grew  famous,  and  within  a 

367 


.THE  KINGDOM  OF,  SLENDER  SWORDS 

year  I  was  shipping  to  Rangoon  and  Thibet.  I  made 
all  sorts  of  praying-tackle.  Then — then  I  quarreled 
with  my  agent,  and — he  told  my  wife.  She  didn't 
believe  it,  but  one  day  ...  he  brought  her  to 
where  I  was  at  work.  I  was  modeling  an  Amida  for 
a  temple  in  Nagasaki !" 

He  threw  an  arm  across  his  face  and  moaned. 

"She  left  me  that  night.  A  ship  was  in  the  har- 
bor. I  ...  never  saw  her  again.  I  never  knew 
I  had  a  daughter  till  a  week  ago!  •  «  «  I  never 
knew!" 

There  was  a  silence. 

"I  have  seen  her.  She  must  never  guess,  Arthur ! 
She  thinks  I  ...  died  in  Nagasaki.  It's  better 
so.  Promise  me !" 

"I  promise,  John,"  said  the  bishop.    "I  promise." 

The  bell  of  the  temple  across  the  inclosure  began 
to  strike.  "It  sounds  .  .  .  like  the  bell  of  the 
old  Greek  church,"  the  failing  voice  said.  "When  I 
left  home  the  priest  said  I  would  do  nothing  good. 
But — "  the  grim  ghost  of  a  smile  touched  his  lips — 
"I  made  .  .  .  good  idols,  Arthur!"  The  smile 
flickered  out.  "My  little  girl!  My  own,  own 
daughter!  Don't  you  .  *  K  think  it  was  cruel, 
Arthur?" 

"Would  you  like  to  see  her?"  asked  the  bishop. 
"She  is  just  outside." 

The  wan  face  was  illumined.  "Yes,  yes,"  he  said. 
"God  bless  you,  Arthur !  Bring  her — but  quickly !" 

368 


THE  GOLDEN  CRUCIFIX 

For  a  few  moments  there  was  stillness.  The 
priests  whispered  together,  but  approached  no 
nearer.  In  the  other  temple,  the  Bioki-Fuji,  the 
Buddhist  ceremony  of  Sick-Healing,  had  begun  for 
the  injured  man,  and  the  muffled  pounding  of  the 
mok'gyo  came  dully  into  the  propped  ruins.  The 
dying  man's  eyes  were  closed  when  Barbara  knelt 
down  and  took  his  chilling  hand  between  hers. 

"It  is  I,"  she  said  softly. 

His  gaze  was  dimming,  but  he  knew  her.  "I  can't 
see  your  face  much  longer,"  he  said,  "but  I  can  feel 
your  hands.  How  long  ago  it  seems  .  .  .  our 
Flower-of-Dream.  It  bloomed  to-day,  my  dear." 

She  was  weeping  silently.  There  was  a  pause,  in 
which  the  wind  droned  through  the  shattered  tim- 
bers. The  dying  man's  free  hand  wandered  feebly 
at  his  side,  found  a  gold-lacquer  crucifix,  and  drew 
it  closer. 

"The  white  cross  on  the  roof.  It  ...  called 
me  back !"  He  tried  to  lift  the  golden  crucifix.  "I've 
been  -  .  .  making  this  for  a  long  time.  I  was 
outside  when  the  shock  came,  but  I  ...  went 
back  to  save  it.  ...  I  should  like  it  to  be  .  ,  . 
in  your  Chapel,  Barbara." 

She  laid  her  young  cheek  against  his  hand;  she 
could  not  speak. 

Across  the  silence  the  bishop's  low  and  broken 
voice  rose  in  the  Prayer  for  the  Sick : 

"O.  most  merciful  God,  who,  according  to  the 
369 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

multitude  of  Thy  mercies,  dost  so  put  away  the  sins 
of  those  U'ho  truly  repent,  that  Thou  rememberest 
them  no  more:  Open  Thine  eye  of  mercy  .  .  . 
Renew  in  him,  most  loving  Father  .  .  .  Impute 
not  unto  him  his  former  sins  .  .  ." 

"Are  you  still  there,  Barbara  ?" 

"Yes." 

"A  little  longer."  Death  was  heavy  on  his  tongue. 
"Namu  Amida  Butsu!"  he  muttered.  "But  at  the 
end — the  old  things — the  old  faith — " 

The  tears  ran  down  the  bishop's  face. 

"They  are  all  dead  now,"  came  the  broken  whis- 
per through  the  closing  darkness.  "There  is  no  one 
to  forgive  me,  except — " 

"God  will  forgive  you!"  said  the  bishop,  with 
a  sob. 

But  the  idol-maker  did  not  hear. 


370 


CHAPTER  XLVII 
"IF  THIS  BE  FORGETTING" 

THE  sailing-master  of  the  yacht  Barbara,  with 
his  mate  and  crony,  sat  in  the  main  saloon, 
whiling  away  a  tedious  hour. 
The  room  bore  all  the  earmarks  of  "a  rich  man's 
plaything."     It  was  tastefully  and  luxuriously  fur- 
nished.   The  upholstery  was  of  dark  green  brocade, 
thin   Persian  prayer-rugs   were  on  the   hardwood 
floor,  and  electric  bulbs  in  clusters  were  set  in  silver 
sconces,  which  swung  with  a  long,  slow  motion  as 
the  yacht  rocked  to  the  deepening  respiration  of  the 
sea.     At  one  side  a  small   square  table  held   the 
remains  of  a  comfortable  refection,  and  by  it,  on  a 
stand,  sat  a  phonograph  with  which  the  two  men 
had  been  gloomily  diverting  themselves. 

But  though  the  repertoire  of  the  instrument  was 
extended,  it  had  brought  little  satisfaction  to-night. 
The  last  irksome  fortnight  of  inactivity  had  made 
each  selection  trite  and  familiar.  Moreover,  the 
captain's  spirits  were  not  of  the  best.  The  abrupt 
change  of  ownership,  followed  hard  by  the  death  of 
the  yacht's  former  master,  was  a  boulcversement 
that  had  confused  his  automatic  temperament,  and 

371 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

the  sight  of  the  double-locked  cabin-door  in  the 
saloon  was  a  daily  depressant.  He  had  never  seen 
the  yacht's  new  owner,  though  she  had  written  him 
that  he  might  expect  her  at  any  time,  and  the  enigma 
of  a  future  under  a  woman's  orders  troubled  his 
sturdy  and  unimaginative  mind. 

"Wish  to  the  Lord  she'd  come,  if  she's  ever  com- 
ing !"  he  muttered,  as  the  phonograph  ran  down  with 
a  wheeze.  "This  is  two  days  I've  kept  the  dinghy 
lying  at  the  hatoba." 

The  mate  nodded.  It  Was  not  the  first  time  the 
remark  had  been  made.  "I  wonder  why  she  ordered 
his  cabin  door  kept  locked  ?"  he  said. 

"Papers,"  returned  the  captain  sapiently.  "Wants 
to  seal  'em  up  for  the  executor.  New  owner  must 
be  rich,  I  guess.  I'd  like  to  know  what  she  paid  for 
the  outfit.  First  time  I  ever  signed  under  a  new 
skipper  sight  unseen !" 

"Miss  Barbara  Fairfax,"  mused  the  mate.  "Nice 
name.  Curious  only  one  piece  of  mail  should  come 
for  her — and  second  class,  too."  He  picked  up  a 
thin  package  from  the  table,  folded  in  dark  paper. 
This  had  been  made  sodden  by  the  rain;  now  it 
parted  and  a  flat,  black  disk  of  hard  rubber  slipped 
from  it  and  rolled  across  the  floor. 

"Blamed  if  it  isri't  a  phonograph  record,"  he  said, 
as  he  picked  it  up.  "It's  out  of  the  wrapper  now — 
let's  try  it."  He  set  it  in  place  and  rewound  the 
spring,  and  the  saloon  filled  with  a  chorus  of  chirps 

372 


IF  THIS  BE  FORGETTING 

and  tinklings  from  quivering  catgut  smitten  by 
irony  plectrons. 

"Samiscn!"  said  the  captain.  "I've  heard  'em  in 
the  tea-houses.  Give  me  a  fiddle  for  mine,  any 
day." 

The  yacht's  cabin-boy  entered.  "The  dinghy's 
coming,  sir,"  he  said.  "Lady  and  gentleman  aboard 
of  her." 

The  captain  got  up  hastily,  put  out  a  hand  and 
stopped  the  machine.  "Take  away  those  dishes,  and 
be  quick  about  it,"  he  ordered.  "Mr.  Rogers,  pipe 
up  the  men." 

He  hurried  on  deck  and  watched  the  bobbing  craft 
approach.  Under  the  rising  wind  the  sea  was  lifting 
rapidly  and  the  dinghy  buried  its  nose  in  the  spray. 
Presently  he  was  giving  a  helping  hand  to  the  vis- 
itors at  the  break  in  the  rail,  looking  into  a  pair  of 
brown  eyes  that  he  thought  were  the  saddest  he  had 
ever  seen,  and  replying  to  a  voice  that  was  saying : 

"I  am  Miss  Fairfax,  Captain  Hart,  and  this  is  my 
uncle,  Bishop  Randolph." 

The  train  which  brought  Barbara  and  the  bishop 
from  Tokyo  had  crawled  for  miles  along  what 
seemed  a  narrow  ribbon  laid  on  a  yellow  floor. 
The  steady,  continuous  downpour  had  flooded  the 
rice-fields  and  the  landscape  was  a  waste  of  turbid 
freshet,  the  rivers  deep  and  swollen  torrents.  At 
one  bridge  a  small  army  of  workmen  were  dumping 

373 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

loads  of  stone  about  a  pier-head  and  shoring  up  the 
track  with  heavy  timbers.  The  train  crossed  this  at 
a  snail's  pace,  that  inspired  anxiety. 

"I'm  not  an  engineer,"  the  bishop  had  said,  "but 
I  prophesy  this  bridge  won't  be  safe  to-morrow  un- 
less the  water  falls." 

The  early  daylight  dinner  at  the  hotel  had  been 
well  nigh  a  silent  ceremonial.  That  day,  with  the 
temple  solitary,  Barbara  had  gone  down  into  a 
deeper  Valley  of  Shadow.  Just  as  her  longing  to 
go  to  him  in  her  trouble  had  seemed  to  her  over- 
wrought, so  now  her  grief  was  strangely  poignant. 
When  she  thought  of  him  her  mind  was  a  confusion 
of  tremulous  half-thoughts  and  new  emotions.  She 
could  not  know  that  the  voice  she  dimly  heard  was 
the  call  of  blood — that  she  was  in  the  grip  of  that 
mighty  instinct  of  filiation  which  strengthens  the 
life-currents  of  the  world.  Her  grief — mysterious 
because  its  springs  were  haunting  and  unknown — 
added  its  aching  pang  now  to  the  misery  that  had 
encompassed  her.  She  had  felt  the  fierce  bounding 
of  the  stout  little  boat,  the  gusts  of  windy  spray  that 
flew  over  them,  with  a  tinge  of  relief,  since  the 
buffeting  made  the  inner  pain  less  keen. 

As  she  stood  at  length,  with  her  task,  in  the  cabin 
whose  door  had  been  so  long  locked,  she  remem- 
bered the  white-robed  priests  of  Kudan  Hill,  stalk- 
ing barefooted  across  the  hot  coals.  Her  soul,  she 
thought,  must  tread  a  fiery  path  on  which  rested  no 

374 


IF  THIS  BE  FORGETTING 

miracle  of  painlessness,  and  which  had  no  end. 
Above  her  she  could  hear  the  irregular  footfalls  of 
the  bishop  on  the  tilting  deck,  and  the  shrill  hum- 
ming of  the  wind  in  the  ventilators.  It  seemed  to 
be  mocking  her.  Before  the  world  she  was  living  a 
painful  pretense.  Even  her  uncle  believed  her  to  be 
grieving  for  the  man  whose  life  had  gone  out  that 
night  at  Nikko ! 

When  all  had  been  done  and  the  papers  sealed  in 
a  portmanteau  for  delivery  to  the  Consul-General, 
Barbara  came  into  the  brilliant  saloon.  The  yacht 
was  pitching  heavily  and  she  could  stand  with  diffi- 
culty. Steadying  herself  against  the  table,  she  saw 
the  empty  wrapper  addressed  to  herself.  It  bore  a 
Nikko  postmark.  Who  could  have  sent  it  here  ?  As 
she  stood  holding  the  paper  in  her  hand,  the  bishop 
entered. 

"Captain  Hart  thinks  we  would  better  stay  aboard 
to-night,  Barbara,"  he  said.  "There  is  a  nasty  sea 
and  we  should  be  sure  of  a  drenching  in  the  dinghy. 
We  have  no  change  of  clothing,  you  know." 

"You  will  be  quite  comfortable,  Miss  Fairfax," 
the  captain's  voice  spoke  deferentially  from  the  door- 
way. "The  guest-rooms  are  always  kept  ready." 

"Very  well,"  she  said,  a  little  wearily.  "That  will 
be  best,  no  doubt."  She  held  up  the  torn  wrapper. 
"What  was  in  this,  I  wonder?" 

The  captain  confessed  his  indiscretion  with  em- 
barrassment, and  she  absolved  him  with  a  smile  that 

375 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

covered  a  sharper  pang  than  she  had  yet  felt  that 
evening.  For  that  thin  disk  had  been  on  the  hillside 
that  Nikko  night — perhaps  had  heard  that  quarrel, 
had  seen  that  blow,  had  watched  a  man  crawling, 
staggering  foot  by  foot,  till  he  collapsed  against  the 
frame  that  held  it !  By  what  strange  chance  had  it 
been  sent  to  her  here? 

Her  uncle  bade  her  good  night  presently,  being 
an  indifferent  sailor,  and  betook  himself  to  bed.  The 
room  that  had  been  prepared  for  her  opened  into  the 
saloon.  She  was  too  restless  to  retire,  and  after  a 
time  she  climbed  up  the  companion-way  to  the 
windy  deck. 

The  vaulted  sapphire  of  the  sky  had  been  swept 
clean  of  cloud  and  the  stars  sparkled  whitely.  Off 
at  one  side,  a  flock  of  sinister  shadows,  she  could 
make  out  the  Squadron  of  battle-ships,  and  beyond, 
in  a  curving  line,  the  twinkling  lights  of  the  Bund. 
Could  it  ever  again  be  to  her  that  magical  shore  she 
had  first  seen  from  a  ship's  deck,  with  hills  which 
the  cherry-trees  made  fairy  tapestries  of  green-rose, 
and  mountains  creased  of  purple  velvet  and  veined 
with  gold  ?  The  great  white  phantom  lifting  above 
them — would  it  henceforth  be  but  a  bulk  of  ice  and 
stone,  no  longer  the  shrine  of  the  Goddess-of-Ra- 
diant-Flower-Bloom  ?  The  sky — would  it  ever 
again  seem  the  same  violet  arch  that  had  bent  over  a 
Tokyo  garden  of  musk  flowers  and  moonlight? 
Would  the  world  never  seem  beautiful  to  her  again? 

376 


IF  THIS  BE  FORGETTING 

All  about  her  the  foam-stippled  water  glowed  with 
points  of  phosphorescence,  as  though  a  thousand 
ghostly  lanterns  were  afloat.  It  made  her  think  of 
the  festival  of  the  Bon,  of  which  Thorn  had  told  her, 
when  the  Shoryo-bune — the  boats  of  the  departed 
spirits — in  lambent  flotillas,  go  glimpsing  down  to 
the  sea.  How  unbelievable  that  she  should  never 
see  him  again !  She  felt  a  sudden  envy  of  the  placid 
millions  encircling  her  to  whose  faith  no  life  was 
ever  lost,  whose  loved  ones  were  ever  coming  back 
in  the  perennial  cherry-blooms,  the  maple-leaves,  the 
whispering  pines. 

Her  love  would  come  back  to  her  only  in  bitter 
memories,  in  painful  thoughts  that  would  shame  and 
burn.  All  else  beside,  she  had  been  Austen  Ware's 
promised  wife.  How  could  she  still  feel  love  for 
the  man  who  had  caused  his  death?  Yet — if  she 
must — if  she  could  never  tear  that  image  from  her 
breast ! 

Like  the  reflection  of  a  camera-obscura,  memory 
painted  a  sudden  picture  on  the  void;  she  saw  her- 
self sitting  amid  the  branches  of  a  tulip-tree,  while 
some  one  sang — a  song  the  wind  was  humming  in 
the  cordage : 

"Forgotten  you?    Well,  if  forgetting 

Be  yearning  with  all  my  heart, 
With  a  longing,  half  pain  and  half  rapture, 
For  the  time  when  we  never  shall  part ; 

377 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

If  the  wild  wish  to  see  you  and  hear  you, 
To  be  held  in  your  arms  again — 

If  this  be  forgetting,  you're  right,  dear, 
And  I  have  forgotten  you  then." 

Great,  slow  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes  and  rolled 
down  her  cheeks. 


378 


CHAPTER   XLVIII 

WHILE  THE   CITY   SLEPT 

DAUNT  accompanied  his  chief  that  evening 
to  a  dinner  at  the  Nobles'  Club — a  "stag," 
for  conventional  functions  had  been  discon- 
tinued since  the  royal  death  had  cast  a  pall  over  the 
stay  of  the  Squadron.  As  they  drove  thither  a 
nearer  shadow  was  over  the  Ambassador's  spirits. 
His  thoughts  would  stray  to  Barbara  and  her  mis- 
fortune, which  seemed  so  deep  and  irreparable.  He 
had  eventually  accepted  his  wife's  diagnosis  as  to 
Daunt's  tendresse,  but  he  had  a  confidence  that  his 
Secretary  of  Embassy,  though  hard-hit,  would  bear 
no  scars.  He  could  not  guess  all  that  lay  beneath 
the  brave  domino  Daunt  was  wearing. 

The  affair  was  a  late  one,  with  various  native 
divertisements :  top-spinners,  painters  whose  ex- 
quisite brush-etchings,  done  in  a  few  seconds,  were 
given  as  mementoes  to  the  guests,  and  jugglers  who, 
utterly  without  paraphernalia,  caused  live  fowl  to 
appear  in  impossible  places.  Toward  the  close  the 
Ambassador  found  himself  seated  beside  the  Minis- 
ter of  Marine. 

"Very  clever,"  he  said,  as  a  Chinese  pheasant  flew 
379 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

out  of  an  inverted  opera-hat.  "I  almost  believe  he 
could  produce  my  missing  dog  if  he  were  properly 
urged." 

"Have  you  lost  one?"  asked  the  Admiral.  "I'm 
sorry." 

The  Ambassador  laughed.  "It  was  really  some- 
thing of  a  relief,"  he  said,  and  told  the  story  of  the 
Russian  wolf-hound  which  had  so  curiously  disap- 
peared on  the  evening  of  Doctor  Bersonin's  call. 
"The  oddest  thing  about  it,"  he  ended,  "is  that, 
though  the  name  of  the  Embassy  Was  on  his  collar, 
nothing  has  been  heard  of  him." 

The  two  men  chatted  for  some  time  on  things  in 
general,  the  conversation  veering  to  the  Squadron. 
The  Ambassador  thought  the  other  seemed  some- 
what distrait.  At  two  the  affair  ended  and  the  car- 
riages drew  up  to  the  windy  porte-cochere.  There 
was  a  confidential  matter  which  the  Ambassador 
wished  to  speak  of  with  his  host.  He  had  mentioned 
it,  but  no  fitting  opportunity  had  occurred.  At  the 
door  the  Admiral  recalled  it,  suggesting  with  a  quiz- 
zical reference  to  the  other's  American  fondness  for 
late  hours  that,  as  his  house  was  on  the  way,  the  Am- 
bassador stop  there,  while  they  had  their  talk  over  a 
cigar.  The  latter,  therefore,  departed  in  the  Ad- 
miral's carriage,  and  Daunt  drove  alone  to  the  Em- 
bassy, directing  the  coachman  to  go  in  a  half-hour 
for  his  chief. 

In  the  past  three  days  Daunt  had  fought  a  con- 
380 


WHILE  THE  CITY  SLEPT 

stant  battle.  Every  feature  of  that  night  at  Nikko 
was  stamped  indelibly  on  his  mind.  The  passionate 
resentment,  the  agony  of  protest  that  had  come  to 
him  at  the  ball,  when  he  had  received  the  torn  frag- 
ments of  his  letter  to  Barbara,  returned  in  double 
force,  opposing  a  strange,  new  sense  of  shame  that 
his  thought  should  follow  her  even  into  the  tragic 
shadow  where  she  now  dwelt.  Yet — for  fancy  will 
not  be  denied — his  brain  would  again  and  again 
circle  the  same  somber  treadmill: 

We  have  done  those  things  which  we  ought  not  to 
have  done!  He  seemed  to  hear  her  say  it  on  the 
dark  hillside.  Her  voice  had  had  that  in  it  which, 
against  his  will,  had  thrilled  him.  What  had  she 
done  that  she  regretted  ?  She  had  spoken  of  the  day 
in  the  cave  at  Enoshima — had  seemed  to  wish  him 
to  believe  that  she  had  not  then  been  acting  a  part. 
Could  anything  have  happened  in  that  one  day's  in- 
terval so  utterly  to  change  her?  She  had  been 
unhappy,  for  he  had  surprised  her  weeping.  What 
was  it  she  had  wished  to  "confess?"  So  to-night 
his  gloomy  reflections  ran — to  their  submerging 
wave  of  self-reproach. 

He  let  himself  into  the  Chancery  with  his  latch- 
key, to  get  his  evening's  mail.  A  telegram  had  been 
laid  on  his  desk.  It  was  a  cipher  from  Washington, 
and  he  opened  the  safe  at  once  and  from  the  inner 
drawer  took  out  the  official  code  books.  He  sat 
down  at  one  of  the  desks  and  began  the  decoding  of 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

the  text.  For  a  time  he  worked  mechanically — as  it 
were,  with  but  one-half  of  his  brain — tracing-  each 
group  of  figures  in  the  bulky  volume,  transposing  by 
the  secret  key,  dragging,  in  the  complicated  process, 
sense  and  coherency  from  the  meaningless  digits. 
Then  he  sat  staring  at  the  result : 

"Large  short  selling  to-day  in  European 
bourses  and  in  New  York  (comma)  unex- 
plainable  on  usual  grounds  (comma)  is  cre- 
ating anxiety  (period)  Can  scarcely  be 
explained  except  on  hypothesis  that  secret 
group  of  dealers  have  suddenly  come  into 
possession  of  information  which  leads  them 
to  consider  the  international  situation  om- 
inous (period)  Newspapers  in  ignorance 
of  anything  extraordinary  (period)  Lon- 
don and  Paris  evidently  puzzled  (period) 
Has  situation  developed  new  phases  and  in 
your  opinion  does  it  contain  possible  ele- 
ment of  danger  (period)  Hasten  reply." 

A  full  five  minutes  Daunt  sat  motionless,  revolv- 
ing the  matter  in  all  its  bearings.  An  answer  must 
be  sent  without  delay.  A  part  of  that  answer  might 
be  found  in  the  departure  of  the  Squadron.  The 
newspapers  had  announced  its  receipt  of  sailing- 
orders,  but  the  news  had  yet  to  be  verified.  The 
Naval  Minister  could  give  this  verification. 

He  went  at  once  to  the  stables,  where  the  carriage 
was  about  to  start  for  the  Ambassador.  He  sprang 
in.  A  little  later  he  was  at  the  Admiral's  official 

382 


WHILE  THE  CITY  SLEPT 

residence  and  his  chief  was  perusing  the  message. 
After  a  moment's  thought  the  Ambassador  read  it 
aloud. 

Daunt  had  made  a  move  to  retire,  but  the  Admiral 
stopped  him. 

"Pray  don't  go  yet,"  he  said.  "There  is  some- 
thing I  should  like  to  say  on  this  matter,  and  I  count 
on  your  discretion,  Mr.  Daunt,  as  on  His  Excel- 
lency's. Since  the  American  Government  attaches 
significance  to  that  peculiar  incident,  I  think  no 
harm  can  come  from  an  exchange  of  opinion.  It 
may  help  us  both."  He  paused  a  moment,  his  foot 
tapping  the  floor. 

"The  news  contained  in  that  telegram,"  he  con- 
tinued presently,  "for  the  past  two  days  has  caused 
my  Government  great  concern.  Your  Excellency 
will  understand  when  I  say  that  the  particular  ob- 
jects of  this  attack  (if  I  may  so  call  it)  are  precisely 
those  securities  which  would  suffer  most  were 
Japan's  peace  or  prosperity  threatened.  There  has 
seemed  to  be  a  concurrence  in  it  not  purely  fortui- 
tous. Back  of  this  selling  is  no  mere  opinion — it  is 
too  assured  for  that.  Some  interest  or  individual 
abroad  is  apparently  banking  heavily  on  a  belief  that 
Japan  is  about  to  enter  a  period  of  stress !" 

The  Ambassador  spoke  for  the  first  time. 
"Abroad?"  he  said  shrewdly. 

The  Admiral  looked  at  him  an  instant  without 
speaking.  His  expression  changed  swiftly.  He 

383 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

rose  and  went  quickly  to  the  telephone  in  the  next 
room. 

"He  is  talking  with  the  Secret  Service,"  said 
Daunt,  in  a  low  tone. 

In  a  few  moments  their  host  returned.  There  was 
something  in  his  face  that  made  the  Ambassador's 
keen  eye  kindle.  ''The  suggestion  was  most  perti- 
nent," he  said.  "There  is  one  man  in  Japan  who, 
exclusive  of  the  commercial  codes,  has  sent  in  the 
past  two  days  cipher  telegrams  to  New  York,  Lon- 
don and  Berlin." 

He  took  a  short  turn  about  the  room  in  some 
agitation.  "Your  Excellency,"  he  said,  stopping 
short,  "I  make  a  confident  of  you.  That  man  is 
Doctor  Bersonin." 

The  Ambassador  started. 

"Pray  absolve  me,"  said  the  Admiral  quickly, 
"from  an  apparent  indiscretion.  Doctor  Bersonin 
is  no  longer  in  the  Japanese  service.  His  contract 
expired  at  noon  to-day.  It  will  not  be  renewed.  As 
one  of  my  Government  I  speak  to  you,  as  the  repre- 
sentative of  your  Government,  concerning  a  private 
individual  whose  acts  are  in  the  purview  of  us  both. 
The  circumstances  are  extraordinary,  but  I  think 
the  occasion  justifies  this  conversation." 

He  rang  a  bell  sharply  and  his  private  secretary 
entered.  "Bring  me."  he  said  in  Japanese,  "report 
number  eleven  of  Lieutenant  Ishida  Hetaro." 

When  it  was  brought,  he  turned  to  a  leaf  under- 
384 


WHILE  THE  CITY  SLEPT 

scored  with  red.  "Your  Excellency,"  he  said,  "in- 
terested me  profoundly  this  evening  by  the  account 
of  the  disappearance  of  your  dog".  I  am  going  to 
ask  Mr.  Daunt — who  reads  Japanese  so  fluently — 
to  give  a  running  translation  of  this." 

Daunt  took  the  manuscript — as  perfectly  executed 
as  an  inscription  in  Uncial  Greek — and  began  to 
read.  As  he  translated,  his  breath  came  more 
quickly,  and  the  Ambassador  leaned  forward  across 
the  table.  Yet  the  words  chronicled  nothing  more 
than  the  curious  disappearance  from  the  laboratory 
of  a  tiny  song-bird — and  a  steel  pen-rest.  The  close 
of  the  narrative  drew  an  exclamation  from  the  Am- 
bassadors lips.  For  it  told  of  feathery  sprays  of 
reddish-brown  powder  on  the  expert's  desk,  and  he 
seemed  to  see  himself,  his  study  lamp  in  his  hand, 
bending  over  curious  whorls  of  dust  on  his  own 
piazza. 

"May  I  ask,"  said  the  Admiral,  "whether  the  epi- 
sode of  the  dog  suggested  to  Your  Excellency  the 
possibility  that  your  caller  might  himself  be  able  to 
solve  the  mystery  of  the  animal's  disappearance  ?" 

The  Ambassador's  reply  came  slowly,  but  with 
deliberate  emphasis: 

"It  did.  The  more  so,  from  our  previous  conver- 
sation. In  my  study  I  have  the  model  of  a  Dread- 
naught.  We  were  discussing  this,  and  the  doctor 
described  the  fighting  machine  of  the  future — an 
atomic  engine  which  should  utilize  some  newly  dis- 

385 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

covered  law  of  molecular  action,  a  machine  that 
might  be  carried  in  a  single  hand,  to  which  a  battle- 
ship would  be,  as  he  expressed  it,  'mere  silly  shreds 
of  steel.'  He  spoke,  I  thought,  with  a  strange  con- 
fidence that  seemed  almost  unbalanced.  In  connec- 
tion with  the  conversation,  the  later  incident,  I 
confess,  left  a  deep  impression.  Yet  the  idea  it  sug- 
gested was  so  incredible  that  I  have  never  spoken 
of  it  to  any  one  before." 

"Suppose,"  said  the  Admiral,  "that  the  man  we 
are  discussing  has  actually  constructed  such  a 
machine.  What  possible  connection  can  there  be 
between  that  and  a  confidence  in  some  near  event 
which  will  lower  Japan's  credit  in  the  eyes  of  the 
world?" 

Before  the  Ambassador  replied  there  was  the 
sound  of  voices  outside — a  sudden  commotion  and 
a  woman's  agitated  protestations.  The  secretary 
came  in  hurriedly  and  whispered  to  the  Admiral. 
A  door  slammed  in  the  hall,  there  was  the  sound  of 
a  short  struggle,  and  a  girl  burst  into  the  room. 
She  threw  herself  at  the  Admiral's  feet,  panting 
broken  sentences.  Her  kimono  was  torn  and  mud- 
died, her  blue-black  hair  was  loosened,  and  her  face 
white  and  pitifully  working. 

A  man  had  darted  after  her — he  was  the  Ad- 
miral's aide.  He  grasped  her  arm.  "She  has  been 
at  the  Department,"  he  said  in  English,  with  a 
glance  at  the  visitors.  "They  detained  her  there, 

386 


WHILE  THE  CITY  SLEPT 

but  she  got  away.    They  have  telephoned  a  warning 
that  she  might  attempt  to  see  you.'' 

She  struggled  against  him,  her  eyes  sweeping  the 
circle  about  her  with  a  passionate  entreaty.  Sud- 
denly she  saw  the  Ambassador.  She  lifted  her  face, 
swollen  with  crying,  to  him : 

"You — nod  know  me — Haru?"  she  faltered,  "ne? 
Say  so!" 

"Haru!"  he  exclaimed.  Then,  turning  to  the 
Admiral,  "I  know  the  child/'  he  said.  "She  was 
companion  to  one  of  our  house-guests  till  a  week 
ago,  when  she  disappeared  from  her  home." 

His  host  made  an  exclamation  of  pity.  "It  is 
no-byo,  no  doubt,"  he  said,  using  the  word  for  the 
strange  Japanese  brain-fever  which  is  akin  to  mad- 
ness. "She  must  be  cared  for  at  once."  He  leaned 
and  spoke  soothingly  to  her. 

A  spasm  seized  Haru.  She  tore  herself  from  the 
aide's  grasp  and,  falling  prone,  beat  her  small  fists 
on  the  floor.  "They  will  none  of  them  listen !  They 
will  none  of  them  listen !"  she  screamed,  in  Japanese. 
"They  call  it  the  fever,  and  they  will  not  hear !  And 
to-morrow  it  will  be  too  late!"  A  peal  of  hysteric 
laughter  shook  her,  mixed  with  strangling  sobs. 
"Are  all  the  gods  with  Bersonin-.5Vm?" 

At  that  name  the  Admiral's  face  changed  swiftly. 
"Leave  her  with  me,"  he  said,  "and  wait  in  the  ante- 
room." 

"But,  Excellency—" 

387 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

The  other  lifted  his  hand,  and  the  aide  withdrew 
with  the  secretary.  His  two  callers  had  risen,  but 
he  stayed  them.  "We  have  gone  far  along  the  road 
of  confidence  to-night/'  he  said  in  a  low  tone.  "If 
you  are  willing,  we  will  go  to  the  end." 

He  bent  and  drew  the  girl  to  a  sitting  posture. 

"Tell  us,"  he  said  gently,  "what  brought  you 
here.'* 


'388 


CHAPTER    XLIX 

THE  ALARM 

AS  the  three  men  listened  to  the  swift,  broken 
story,  there  was  no  sound  save  the  rustle  of 
the  wind  outside,  the  clack  of  a  night-watch- 
man, and  the  ticking  of  the  clock  on  the  marble  man- 
tel. The  crouching  form,  the  sodden  garments,  the 
passionate  intensity  of  the  slim,  clutched  hands,  the 
fire  in  the  dark  eyes — all  lent  effect  to  a  narrative  in- 
stinct with  terrible  truth.  The  Ambassador's  know- 
ledge of  the  colloquial  was  limited,  but  he  knew 
enough  to  grasp  the  story's  main  features.  It  capped 
the  edifice  of  suspicion  and  furnished  a  direful  solu- 
tion to  what  had  been  mysterious.  Once  the  Ad- 
miral's eyes  met  his,  and  each  knew  that  the  other 
believed.  Terrible  as  its  meaning  was — pointing  to 
what  black  depths  of  abysmal  wickedness — it  was 
true! 

The  Admiral  listened  with  a  countenance  that 
might  have  been  carved  of  metal,  but  the  faces  of 
the  others  were  gray-white.  Later  was  to  come  to 
both  the  pathos  and  meaning  of  the  sacrifice  this 
frail  girl  had  laid  on  the  knees  of  her  country's  gods, 

389 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

but  for  the  hour,  all  else  was  swallowed  up  in  the 
horrifying  knowledge,  struck  through  with  the 
sharp  fact  that  one  of  the  partners  in  this  devilish 
enterprise,  however  expatriate,  was  of  their  own  na- 
tion. To  Daunt  this  was  intensified  by  his  own 
acquaintance  with  Phil.  Memories  swept  him  of 
that  worthless,  ribald  career — the  evil  intimacy  with 
Bersonin — the  gradual  dominance  of  the  bottle, 
which  in  the  end  had  betrayed  him ! 

With  a  singular  separateness  of  vision,  he  seemed, 
in  lightning-like  flashes,  to  see  that  betrayal:  the 
blind  infatuation,  the  slow  enticements,  the  reckless, 
intoxicated  triumph,  the  final  surrender.  He 
seemed  to  see  Haru,  her  secret  won,  running  pant- 
ing through  the  wind.  He  saw  Phil  waking  at  last 
from  his  drunken  slumber — to  what  shame  and  pen- 
alty ?  He  shuddered. 

When  the  secretary  entered  at  the  crisp  sound  of 
the  Admiral's  bell,  he  started  at  the  pallid  counte- 
nances in  the  room.  The  Japanese  girl  stood  trem- 
bling, half-supported  by  the  Admiral's  arm.  The 
latter  spoke — in  a  voice  that  held  no  sign  of  feeling. 
It  was  to  present  the  young  man  to  the  girl  in  the 
most  formal  and  elaborate  courtesy. 

"The  O jo-San  deigns  to  be  for  but  an  hour  the 
guest  of  my  mean  abode,"  he  said.  "Instruct  my 
karei  that  in  that  unworthy  interval  he  may  offer 
her  august  refreshment  and  afterward  prepare  her 

390 


THE  ALARM 

proper  escort  and  conveyance.    Meantime,  send  my 
aide  to  me." 

The  secretary's  gleam  of  astonishment  veiled  it- 
self under  oriental  lashes,  and  a  tinge  of  color 
warmed  the  whiteness  of  Haru's  cheek.  He  bowed 
to  her  profoundly.  As  he  deferentially  opened  the 
door,  she  turned  back,  swayed,  and  sank  suddenly 
prone  in  a  deep,  sweeping  obeisance. 

An  instant  the  Admiral  stood  looking  after  her. 
"The  petal  of  a  plum-blossom,"  he  said,  "under  the 
hoof  of  the  swine!" 

His  manner  changed  abruptly  as  the  aide  entered. 
He  spoke  in  quick,  curt  Japanese,  in  a  tone  sharp 
and  exact  as  steel  shears  snipping  through  zinc : 

"Something  has  transpired  of  great  moment. 
There  is  no  time  to  deal  with  it  by  the  ordinary  chan- 
nels. It  is  of  the  first  importance — the  first  impor- 
tance!— that  I  reach  Yokohama  within  the  hour. 
You  will  call  up  Shimbashi  and  order  a  special  train 
with  right  of  way.  This  admits  of  no  delay!  Send 
for  my  carriage  at  once.  You  will  accompany  me. 
We  leave  in  ten  minutes."  The  aide  went  out 
quickly  while  he  seated  himself  at  his  desk  and  began 
to  write  rapidly. 

"Two  battle-ships!"  he  said  suddenly,  wheeling 
in  his  seat.  "With  the  human  lives  on  them! 
Perhaps  even  war  between  two  or  more  nations! 
Gods  of  my  ancestors!  All  this  to  hang  on  the 
loyalty  of  a  mere  girl !" 

391 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

The  Ambassador,  pacing  the  floor,  snapped  the 
lid  of  his  watch.  "It  must  still  be  close  to  two  hours 
of  sunrise,"  he  said  in  an  agitated  voice.  "Surely 
there  is  time!" 

The  Admiral  was  consulting  an  almanac  when  the 
aide  reentered.  "Here  is  a  telegram,"  he  said.  "Put 
it  on  the  wire  at  once.  It  must  arrive  before  us." 

"Excellency,"  said  the  aide,  "the  train  is  not  pos- 
sible. The  service  to  Yokohama  ceased  at  six 
o'clock.  The  rains — there  is  a  washout." 

His  chief  pondered  swiftly.  "It  must  be  left  to 
others,  then.  Call  up  the  emergency  long-distance 
for  Yokohama  and  give  me  a  clear  wire  at  once  to 
the  Governor's  residence.  I  must  make  the  tele- 
graphic instructions  fuller."  He  bent  over  the  desk. 

Trepidation  was  on  the  aide's  face  when  he  re- 
turned this  time. 

"Excellency  the  accident  to  the  line  was  the  failure 
of  the  bridge  over  the  Rokuga-gawa.  It  carried 
both  the  telegraph  and  telephone  conduits.  No  wire 
will  be  working  before  noon  to-morrow." 

The  Admiral  half-rose.  He  stretched  out  his 
hand,  then  drew  it  back. 

"The  wireless !"  exclaimed  the  Ambassador. 

The  aide's  troubled  voice  replied.  Whatever  the 
necessity  he  knew  that  it  was  a  crucial  one. 

"The  mast  was  displaced  by  to-day's  earthquake," 
he  said,  "The  system  is  temporarily  useless." 

392 


THE   ALARM 

There  was  a  moment  of  blank  silence.  The  Ad- 
miral sat  staring  straight  before  him.  The  only 
sign  of  agitation  was  his  labored  breathing. 

"Can  a  horse  get  through  ?" 

The  other  shook  his  head.  "Not  under  three 
hours.  It  would  have  to  be  by  detour — and  there 
are  no  relays." 

"A  motor  car?" 

"Impossible!"  exclaimed  the  Ambassador.  "By 
the  long  road  and  in  better  weather  my  Mercedes 
can  not  do  it  under  eighty  minutes." 

The  Admiral  lifted  himself  from  his  chair.  His 
eyes  were  bloodshot  and  on  his  forehead  tiny  veins 
had  sprung  out  in  branching  clusters  of  purple. 

"In  the  name  of  Shakaf  Yokohama  harbor  but  a 
handful  of  miles  away,  and  cut  off  utterly?  It  must 
be  reached,  I  tell  you!  It  mttst  be  reached!"  His 
voice  was  low-pitched,  but  terrible  in  its  intensity. 
"Drive  to  the  Naval  College  and  ask  for  twenty 
cadets — its  swiftest  runners — to  be  sent  after  you  to 
Shimbashi.  A  locomotive  can  take  them  as  far  as 
the  river.  If  there  are  no  sampan,  they  can  swim. 
Make  demand  in  my  authority.  Not  a  minute  is  to 
be  lost !"  He  put  what  he  had  been  writing  into  the 
aide's  hand.  "Read  this  in  the  carriage.  It  will 
serve  as  instruction." 

The  aide  thrust  the  paper  into  his  breast  and  van- 
ished. The  Admiral  looked  about  him  through  stif- 

393 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

fened,  half-closed  eyelids.  Then,  under  the  stress, 
it  seemed,  of  a  mighty  shudder — the  very  soul  of 
that  overwhelming  certainty  of  the  peril  awaiting  the 
red  dawn  on  that  bungalow  roof  above  the  Yoko- 
hama anchorage — the  racial  impassivity,  the  re- 
straint and  repression  of  emotion  that  long  genera- 
tions of  ingrain  habit  have  made  second  nature  to 
the  Japanese,  suddenly  crumbled.  He  struck  his 
hand  hard  against  the  desk. 

"Has  not  Japan  toiled  and  borne  enough,  that  this 
shame  must  come  to  her?"  His  deep  voice  shook. 
"Your  Excellency — Mr.  Daunt — in  all  this  land 
where  heroism  is  hackneyed  and  sacrifice  a  fetish, 
there  is  no  prince  or  coolie  who,  to  turn  aside  this 
peril,  would  not  give  his  body  to  the  torture.  Yet 
must  we  sit  here  helpless  as  Darumas!  If  man  but 
had  wings!" 

Daunt  stiffened.  He  felt  his  heart  beat  to  his 
temples.  He  started  to  his  feet  with  an  exclama- 
tion. 

"But  man  has  wings!"  he  cried. 

.What  of  the  long  hours  of  toil  and  experiment, 
the  gray  mornings  on  Aoyama  parade-ground  when 
his  Glider  had  carried  him  circling  above  the  tree- 
tops?  Could  he  do  it?  With  no  other  word  he 
darted  to  the  hall.  They  heard  his  flying  feet  on  the 
gravel  and  a  quick  command  to  a  betto.  The  wind 
tossed  back  the  word  into  the  strained  quiet. 

394 


THE  ALARM 

"Aoyama!"  exclaimed  the  Ambassador,  as  the 
hoof-beats,  lashed  to  an  anguish  of  speed,  died  into 
silence.  "His  Glider!" 

A  sudden  hope  flashed  into  the  Admiral's  face. 

"The  gods  of  Nippon  aid  him !"  he  said. 


395 


CHAPTER   L 

WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY 

THERE  was  one  whose  guilty  eyes  were  closed 
to  the  red  danger  so  near.     In  the  house  in 
the    Street-of-the-Misty- Valley,    under    the 
green  mosquito  netting,  Phil  lay  in  a  log-like  slum- 
ber.   The  soft  light  of  the  paper  andon  flowed  over 
the  gay  wadded  f'ton,  the  handsome  besotted  face 
with  its  mark  of  the  satyr  and,  at  one  side,  a  little 
wooden  pillow   of  black  lacquer.     There  was   no 
sound  save  the  sweep  of  the  wind  outside  and  the 
heavy  breathing  of  the  unconscious  man. 

For  three  nights  past,  since  his  wild  motor-ride 
from  Nikko,  he  had  not  slept,  save  in  illusory 
snatches,  from  which  he  had  waked  with  the  sweat 
breaking  on  his  forehead.  Short  as  were  these,  they 
had  held  horrid  visions,  broken  fragments  of  scenes 
that  waved  and  clustered  about  the  lilied  altar  in 
the  Ts'kiji  cathedral,  echoing  to  the  solemn  service 
of  the  dead.  Again  and  again  there  had  started  be- 
fore him  the  stolid  ring  of  blue-clad  coolie  women, 
swaying  as  they  had  swayed  to  the  straw-ropes  of 
the  pile-driver  in  the  moat-bottom  with  their  weird 
chant — 

396 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY 

"  Y6 — eeya — ko — ra ! 
Y6 — eeya — ko — ra !" 

And  now  they  chanted  a  terrible  refrain : 
"Thou— shalt— not— kill!" 

To-night,  however,  deeper  potations  had  done 
their  work.  He  was  dreaming — yellow  dreams  like 
the  blackguard  fancy  ings  of  the  half-world — visions 
in  which  he  moved,  a  Prince  of  Largesse,  through 
unending  pleasures  of  self-indulgence.  He  was  on 
an  European  Boulevard,  riding  with  Haru  by  his 
side  in  silk  and  pearls,  and  people  turned  to  gaze  as 
he  went  by. 

But  now,  with  sinister  topsyturvydom,  the  dream 
changed.  The  cocker  drove  faster  and  faster,  into  a 
mad  gallop.  He  turned  his  head  and  Phil  saw  that 
the  face  under  the  glazed  hat  was  the  face  of  his 
dead  brother.  The  staring  pedestrians  began  to  pur- 
sue the  carriage.  They  showered  blow  after  blow 
on  it,  till  the  sound  reverberated  like  thunder. 

Not  the  ghosts  of  his  dream,  but  a  hand  of  flesh 
and  blood  was  knocking.  It  was  on  the  outer  shoji 
and  the  frail  dwelling  shook  beneath  it.  The  servant, 
sunk  in  bovine  sleep,  heard  no  sound,  but  the 
chauffeur  in  the  automobile  that  throbbed  outside  the 
wistaria  gate,  rose  from  his  seat,  and  across  a  bam- 
boo wattle  a  dog  barked  and  scrambled  venomously. 

Phil's  eyes  opened  and  he  sat  up  giddily.  He 
397 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

went  unsteadily  to  the  door  and  unfastened  the  shoji, 
blinking  at  the  great  form  that  strode  past  him  into 
the  inner  apartment. 

Bersonin's  gaze  swept  the  room.  "The  girl!"  he 
said  hoarsely.  "Where  is  she  ?" 

Phil  looked  about  him  dazedly — at  the  tumbled 
f'ton,  the  deserted  wooden  pillow.  Haru  gone  ?  His 
senses,  clouded  by  intoxication,  took  in  the  fact 
dully,  as  a  thing  of  no  meaning. 

The  expert  grasped  him  by  his  shoulder  and  shook 
him  till  the  thin  silk  of  the  kimono  tore  under  the 
enormous  white  fingers.  The  violence  had  its  effect. 
The  daze  fell  away.  Phil  broke  into  loud  impreca- 
tions. 

"Did  you  tell  her  anything?" 

Phil's  tongue  clove  to  the  roof  of  his  mouth. 
"What  is — what  makes  you  think — "  he  stammered. 

Bersonin's  face  was  a  greenish  hue.  His  great 
hands  shook. 

"To-night,"  he  said,  in  a  whisper,  "to-night — an 
hour  ago — I  saw  her  on  the  street.  I  wasn't  sure  at 
first,  but  I  know  now  it  was  she !  A  naval  officer  was 
with  her.  He  took  her  into  the  house  of  the  Minister 
of  Marine!" 

The  other  gave  a  low  cry.  A  chalky  pallor  over- 
spread his  features.  "Hani  ? — no,  Bersonin !  You're 
crazy,  I  say.  She — she  would  never  tell !" 

Fury  and  terror  blazed  out  on  the  big  man's  coun- 
tenance. A  sharp  moan  came  from  his  lips. 

398 


WHOM  THE  GODS  DESTROY 

"So  she  did  know!  You  told  her  then!  O,  in- 
credible fool !" 

For  an  instant  the  demon  of  murder  looked  from 
the  doctor's  eyes.  Phil  quailed  before  him.  A 
frenzy  of  fear  twisted  his  features;  he  felt  the  pas- 
sion that  had  been  his  undoing  shrivel  and  fade  like 
a  parchment  in  a  flame.  His  voice  rose  in  a  kind  of 
scream : 

"Don't  look  at  me  like  that !"  he  raved.  "I  was  a 
fool  to  trust  her,  but  it's  done  now.  It's  done,  I  tell 
you,  and  you  can't  undo  it!  What  can  they  do  to 
us  ?  They  may  find  the  machine,  but  what  can  they 
prove?  We're  foreigners !  They  can't  touch  us  with- 
out proof !" 

He  had  no  thought  now  of  the  millions  that  were 
to  have  been  his.  All  the  grandiloquent  pictures  he 
had  painted  of  the  future  faded  in  panic.  He  trem- 
bled excessively. 

"Proof!"  sneered  Bersonin  savagely.  'There 
would  have  been  none  if — it  happened!  I  had  ar- 
ranged that!  In  its  operation  the  machine  destroys 
itself!  And  neither  of  us  is  in  Yokohama  to-night." 

Phil's  ashen  face  set ;  his  tongue  curled  round  his 
parched  lips.  "What  is  to  be  done  ?  Can  we  still— 

"Listen,"  said  the  doctor.  "A  single  hour  more, 
even  with  your  cursed  folly,  and  all  would  have  been 
well,  for  no  trains  are  running  and  all  wires  arc 
down.  I  heard  this  afternoon,  too,  that  the  wireless 
is  out  of  order." 

399 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

"Then — then — they  can  not — "'  Phil's  voice  shook 
with  a  nauseous  eagerness. 

"Wait!  When  I  saw  the  girl  there,  I  was  sus- 
picious. I  watched.  In  a  little  while  your  friend 
Daunt  came  from  the  gate.  In  some  way  he  hap- 
pened to  be  there.  The  betto  was  flogging  the  horses 
like  a  crazy  man.  He  came  in  this  direction ! — Can't 
you  understand  ?  His  aeroplane !  He  is  going  to  use 
it  as  a  last  chance.  If  he  succeeds,  we  may  spend  our 
lives  in  the  copper  mines.  If  he  can  be  stopped,  we 
may  win  yet !  There  will  be  nothing  but  the  tale  of 
a  Japanese  drab — that  and  nothing  else !" 

Phil  flung  on  his  clothing  in  a  madness  of  haste. 
The  desperate  dread  that  had  raged  in  him  was  be- 
come now  a  single  fixed  idea,  frosted  over  by  a  cold, 
demented  fury.  Unhealthy  spots  of  red  sprang  in 
his  white  cheeks;  his  eyes  dilated  to  the  mania  of 

the  paranoiac. 

Hatless,  he  rushed  through  the  little  garden, 
cleared  the  rear  hedge  at  a  bound,  and  fled,  like  a 
runaway  from  hell,  toward  the  darkness  of  the  vast 
parade-ground. 


400 


CHAPTER  LI 

THE   LAUGH 

AS  Bersonin  stood  by  the  wistaria  gate  beside 
the  pulsing  motor,  confused  thoughts  rushed 
through  his  mind  into  an  eddying  phantas- 
magoria. The  fear  and  agitation  which  he  had  kept 
under  only  by  an  immense  self-control  returned  with 
double  weight. 

All  was  known — thanks  to  the  brainless  fool  in 
whom  he  had  relied!  The  Government  knew.  The 
wild  tale  the  Japanese  girl  had  told  had  been  be- 
lieved! Had  there  been  suspicions  before?  He 
thought  of  the  espionage  he  had  fancied  had  been 
kept  of  late  on  his  movements,  of  the  silent,  saturnine 
faces  he  had  imagined  dogged  his  footsteps.  Even 
his  servants,  even  Ishida,  with  his  blank  visage  and 
fantastic  English,  might  be — 

He  looked  sharply  at  the  chauffeur.  He  was  light- 
ing a  cigarette  in  the  hollow  of  his  hands ;  the  ruddy 
flare  of  the  match  lit  the  brown  placid  face,  the  nar- 
row, secret-keeping  eyes. 

He  tried  to  force  his  mind  to  a  measure  of  con- 
trol, to  look  the  situation  in  the  face. 

If  Phil  failed.  If  the  aeroplane  won  against  dark- 
401 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

ness  and  wind — if  the  bungalow  was  reached  in 
time,  and  the  machine  made  harmless.  Nothing 
would  happen.  Who,  then,  would  believe  the  girl's 
wild  story?  Who  could  show  that  he  had  made  it? 
He  had  worked  at  night,  alone  in  his  locked  labora- 
tory. Besides,  it  would  tell  nothing.  It  would  yield 
its  secret  only  to  the  master  mind.  And  if  its  pres- 
ence on  the  roof  damned  anybody,  it  would  not  be 
him !  He  had  not  put  it  there.  He  had  not  been  in 
Yokohama  in  three  days! 

If  the  aeroplane  did  not  start — he  remembered  the 
look  on  Phil's  face  when  he  rushed  away! — or  if  it 
failed.  With  its  own  deadly  ray,  the  very  machine 
would  vanish.  Phil  had  not  known  this — could  not 
have  told.  The  searchers  would  find  nothing!  The 
news  would  have  flashed  along  the  cables  that  must 
roll  up  for  him  vast  sums  in  the  panic  of  markets. 
And  there  would  be  nothing  to  bring  the  deed  home 
to  him ! 

Nothing?  The  warning  had  been  given  before  the 
fact.  The  Government  had  taken  alarm.  Bureaus 
were  buzzing  already.  Sooner  or  later  the  accusa- 
tion would  be  running  through  the  street,  swiftly 
and  stealthily,  from  noble  to  merchant,  from  coolie 
to  beggar,  from  end  to  end  of  this  seething  oriental 
city — wherein  he  was  a  marked  man!  What  mat- 
tered it  whether  there  wrere  evidence  on  which  a 
court  would  condemn  him?  The  story  of  his  huge 
coup  in  the  bourses  would  be  told — would  rise  ug 

402 


THE  LAUGH 

against  him.  He  remembered  suddenly  a  tale  he 
had  heard — of  a  traitor  to  Japan  cut  to  pieces  in  a 
tea-house.  An  icy  sweat  broke  out  on  his  limbs. 

Where  was  there  any  refuge  ?  On  a  foreign  ship  ? 
There  were  many  in  the  bay.  He  longed  with  a 
desperate  longing  for  the  touch  of  a  deck  beneath  his 
feet,  a  bulwark  of  blue  water  between  him  and  pos- 
sible vengeance.  At  Kisaraz'  on  the  Chiba  Road,  a 
dozen  miles  to  the  north  in  the  curve  of  the  bay,  was 
his  summer  villa,  his  frequent  resort  for  week-end. 
His  naphtha  launch  lay  there,  always  ready  for  use. 
He  could  reach  it  in  an  hour. 

"Get  into  the  tonneau,"  he  said  to  the  chauffeur. 
"I'll  drive,  myself." 

He  took  the  wheel  the  othei  resigned,  threw  on 
the  clutch,  and  the  clamorous  monster  moved  off 
down  the  quiet  lane.  Past  ranks  of  darkened  shoji, 
with  here  and  there  a  barred  yellow  square ;  by  lan- 
terned tea-houses,  alight  and  tinkling,  past  stolid, 
pacing  watchmen  in  white  duck  clothing,  and  saun- 
tering groups  of  night-hawk  students  chanting 
lugubrious  songs — faster  and  faster,  till  the  chauf- 
feur clutched  the  seat  with  uneasiness. 

The  fever  of  flight  was  on  his  master  now.  He  be- 
gan to  imagine  voices  were  calling  after  him.  From 
a  police-box  ahead  a  man  stepped  into  the  roadway 
waving  a  hand.  It  was  no  more  than  a  warning 
against  over-speed,  but  the  gesture  sent  a  thrill  of 
terror  through  the  big  man  at  the  wheel.  He 

403 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

swerved  sharply  around  a  corner,  skidding  on  two 
wheels. 

Bersonin  muttered  a  curse  as  he  peered  before  him, 
for  the  stretch  was  brilliantly  illuminated.  He  was 
on  the  Street-of-Prayer-to-the-Gods,  which  to-night 
seemed  strangely  alive  with  hubbub. 

That  afternoon,  with  the  passing  of  the  rain, 
there  had  been  held  a  neighborhood  hanaini,  a 
"flower-viewing-excursion."  A  score  of  families, 
with  picnic  paraphernalia,  had  trooped  to  the  wis- 
taria arbors  of  far-distant  Kameido,  to  return  in  the 
small  hours  laden  with  empty  baskets  and  somnolent 
babies.  To-morrow,  like  to-day,  would  be  holiday, 
when  school  and  work  alike  should  be  forgotten. 
The  cavalcade  had  just  returned — afoot,  since  the 
trams  had  ceased  running  at  midnight — the  men 
merry  with  sake,  the  women  chattering.  A  few 
children,  still  wakeful,  scampered  here  and  there. 

The  chauffeur  leaned  forward  writh  an  exclama- 
tion— they  had  all  but  rjin  down  a  hobbling  figure. 

"Keep  your  hands  off!"  snarled  Bersonin.  "Let 
them  get  out  of  the  way !"  The  automobile  dashed 
on,  the  people  scattering  before  it. 

There  was  a  small  figure  in  the  roadway,  how- 
ever, of  whom  no  one  took  account — a  six  year  old. 
Ishikichi  had  not  gone  to  the  hanami  that  day.  For 
many  hours  that  long  afternoon,  while  his  mother 
cared  for  the  sick  father,  he  had  beat  the  tiny  drum 
that  soothed  a  baby's  fret,  comforted  by  the  promise 

404 


THE  LAUGH 

that  he  should  be  waked  in  the  great  hour  when  the 
crowd  came  home.  Stretched  on  his  worn  f'ton  that 
night,  he  had  puzzled  over  the  situation — the  hard, 
blank  fact  that  because  they  had  no  money,  they 
must  give  up  the  shop,  which  was  the  only  home  he 
knew.  When  they  took  his  father  away  to  the  byo-in, 
the  sick-house,  what  would  he  and  his  mother  and 
the  baby-Saw  do?  Would  they  stand,  like  the 
kadots'ke,  playing  a  samisen  at  people's  doors?  It 
was  not  honorably  pleasant  to  be  a  kadots'ke!  Only 
men  could  earn  money,  and  it  would  be  so  long  be- 
fore he  became  a  man.  So  he  had  been  pondering 
when  he  went  to  sleep.  Now,  standing  in  the  road, 
he  heard  the  hum  of  the  rushing  motor,  and  a  quick 
thought, — born  of  that  instinct  of  sacrifice  for  the 
parent,  that  is  woven,  a  golden  thread,  in  the  woof  of 
the  Japanese  soul — darted  into  his  baby  brain.  One 
of  the  big  fire-wagons  of  the  seiyo-jin  was  coming ! 
When  the  carriage  killed  Torn,  his  playmate,  the 
foreigner  had  sent  much  money  to  Toru's  house. 
He  was  not  sorry  any  more,  because  the  white-faced 
man  whom  he  liked,  who  lived  in  the  temple,  had 
told  him  what  a  fine  thing  it  had  been.  For  Toru's 
honorable  father  had  been  fighting  with  the  Gaki, 
the  no-rice-devils — it  was  almost  like  a  war — and 
Toru  had  died  just  as  the  brave  soldiers  did  in  bat- 
tle. A  great  purpose  flooded  the  little  soul.  Was  he 
not  brave,  too? 

So,  as  Bersonin,  with  a  snarl,  shook  off  the  hand 
405 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

of  the  chauffeur  and  threw  the  throttle  wide  open, 
Ishikichi  did  not  scamper  with  the  rest.  With  his 
hands  tightly  clenched  in  his  patched  kimono,  his 
huge  clogs  clattering  on  the  roadway,  he  ran  straight 
into  the  path  of  the  hurtling  mass  of  steel. 

There  was  a  sudden,  sickening  jolt.  The  car 
leaped  forward,  dragging  something  beneath  it  that 
made  no  sound.  The  chauffeur  hurled  himself 
across  the  seat  on  the  gear,  and  the  automobile 
stopped  with  a  grinding  discord  of  screeching  pis- 
tons. A  surge  of  people  came  around  it — a  wave 
without  outcry,  but  holding  a  hushed  murmur  like 
the  sea.  Shojl  were  opening,  doorways  filling  the 
street  with  light.  A  man  bent  and  drew  something 
gently  from  between  the  wheels. 

With  a  writhing  oath  the  expert  wrenched  at  the 
clutch. 

"Go  on !"  he  said  savagely.  "How  dare  you  stop 
without  my  orders  ?" 

The  Japanese  made  no  reply,  but  the  arms  that 
braced  the  wheel  were  rigid  as  steel. 

Bersonin  sank  back  in  his  seat,  his  massive  frame 
quivering,  his  eyes  glittering  like  flakes  of  mica.  But 
for  this,  in  ten  minutes  he  would  have  been  clear  of 
the  city,  flying  along  the  Chiba  Road !  What  if  he 
were  detained  ?  He  felt  strange,  chilly  tendrils  pluck- 
ing at  his  flesh,  and  a  hundred  fiery  needles  seemed 
pricking  through  his  brain. 

Peering  over  his  shoulder,  with  his  horrible  fear 
406 


THE  LAUGH 

on  him,  he  saw  the  crowd  part  to  admit  a  woman 
who,  quite  silently,  but  with  haste,  came  forward 
and  knelt  on  the  ground.  There  was  no  movement 
from  the  crowd. 

In  a  hush  like  that  of  death,  the  mother  rose  with 
Ishikichi  in  her  arms.  The  white,  still  face  looked 
pitifully  small.  One  clog  swayed  from  its  thong 
between  the  bare  toes.  The  faded  kimono  was 
stained  with  red.  She  spoke  no  word.  There  was  no 
tear  on  her  face.  But  in  the  dreadful  silence,  she 
turned  slowly  with  her  burden  and  looked  steadily 
at  the  twitching  face  in  the  car — looked  and  looked. 
The  chauffeur  swung  himself  from  the  seat  into  the 
crowd. 

An  insane  desire  had  been  creeping  stealthily  on 
Bersonin.  He  had  felt  it  coming  when  he  faced  the 
truth  in  Phil's  cringing  admission.  The  horrible 
compulsion  to  laughter  was  on  him.  The  damn- 
able man-hysteria  had  him  by  the  throat.  He  fought 
it  desperately,  as  one  fights  a  wild  beast  in  the  dark. 

In  vain. 

His  jaws  opened.  He  laughed — a  dreadful  peal 
of  merriment  that  echoed  up  and  down  the  latticed 
street.  And  as  he  laughed,  he  knew  that  he  raised  a 
peril  nearer,  more  fearful  even  than  that  from  which 
he  had  been  flying. 

There  was  an  instant's  shocked  calm,  like  the  si- 
lence which  follows  the  distant  spurt  of  blue  flame 
from  the  muzzle  of  a  Krupp  gun.  Then,  like  its  an- 

407 


THE  KINGDOM  OE  SLENDER  SWORDS 

swering  detonation— in  such  a  menacing  roar  as 
might  arise  from  the  brink  of  an  Inferno — the  si- 
lence of  the  quiet  street  burst  into  awful  sound. 

Ten  minutes  later  but  a  single  lighted  shoji  glim- 
mered on  the  darkened  thoroughfare.  The  roadway 
was  deserted  save  for  a  soldierly  figure  in  police- 
man's uniform  who  stood  thoughtfully  looking  at  a 
huddle  in  the  dim  roadway — a  mixture  of  wrenched 
and  battered  iron  and  glass,  in  the  midst  of  which 
lay  an  inert,  shapeless  something  that  might  have 
been  a  bundle  of  old  clothes  fallen  from  a  scavenger's 
cart. 


408 


CHAPTER  LII 

THE  VOICE  IN    THE   DARK 

BARBARA  rested  ill   in  her  cabin  bed   that 
night.    Confused  dreams  troubled  her,  min- 
gling familiar  thoughts  in  kaleidoscopic  con- 
fusion, dragging  her  from  one  tangle  to  another  in 
a  wearying  rapidity  against  which  she  struggled  in 
vain.    One  thing  ran  through  them  all — the  gold- 
lacquer  Buddha  that  had  stood  oh  the  Sendai  chest  in 
her  bedroom  at  the  Embassy;  only  it  seemed  to  be 
also  that  lost  image  before  which  she  had  used  to  sit 
as  a  child. 

She  had  no  feeling  of  awakening,  but  all  at  once 
the  visions  were  gone  and  she  lay  open-eyed,  swing- 
ing to  the  movement  of  the  sea,  feeling  the  night 
to  be  very  long.  There  came  over  her  a  creeping  op- 
pression— a  sense  of  terror  of  the  night,  of  its  hid- 
den mysteries  and  occult  forces.  The  darkness 
seemed  to  be  holding  some  dreadful,  stolid,  lethargic 
thing  that  sprawled  from  horizon  to  horizon. 

A  small,  noiseless  clock  was  hung  beside  the  bed. 
She  could  see  its  pale  face  in  the  light  of  the  thick 
ground-glass  bulb  that  served  as  night-lamp.  It  was 
nearly  four  o'clock. 

409 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

She  twisted  back  the  tawny-brown  surge  of  her 
hair,  rose,  and  dressed  as  hastily  as  she  could  in  the 
lurching  space.  Then  she  opened  the  door  and 
passed  into  the  saloon.  A  roll  of  the  yacht  slammed 
to  the  cabin  door  and  left  her  in  darkness.  She  felt 
for  the  electric  switch,  but  before  she  could  find  it, 
another  movement  sent  her  reeling  against  a  stand. 
She  threw  out  her  arm  to  stay  her  fall  and  struck 
something. 

There  was  a  clicking  sound,  a  soft  whir,  and  then 
the  music  of  samiscn  filled  the  dark  room.  She  real- 
ized that  she  had  staggered  against  the  phonograph 
in  the  corner  and  that  the  shock  had  started  its 
mechanism.  Wincing,  she  groped  her  way  to  a  chair 
and  sat  down  trembling. 

The  music  died  away.  There  was  a  pause,  a  sharp 
click,  a  curious  confusion  of  sounds,  and  then  husky 
and  filmy,  a  human  voice: 

"Barbara!" 

She  caught  her  hands  to  her  throat,  her  blood 
chilling  to  ice.  It  was  the  voice  of  Austen  Ware, 
speaking,  it  seemed  to  her,  from  the  world  beyond. 
She  crouched  back,  breathing  fast  and  hard,  while 
the  voice  went  on,  in  strange  broken  periods, 
threaded  by  a  whir  and  clamor  that  seemed  the  noise 
of  the  wind  outside. 

"What  is  that  I  knocked  over?  It's  buzzing  and 
wheels  are  turning  in  it — or  is  it  the  pain?  Can't 
you  stop  it,  Barbara?  No.  I  know  you  aren't  here, 

410 


THE  VOICE  IN  THE  DARK 

really.  I'm  all  alone  ...  I  must  be  light-headed. 
How  stupid !" 

The  strange  truth  came  to  her  in  a  stab  of  realiza- 
tion. What  she  heard  was  no  supernatural  voice.  In 
its  fall  that  night  the  phonograph's  spring  had  been 
released  and  the  samiscn  record  had  registered  also 
the  delirious  muttering  of  the  dying  man.  She  felt 
herself  shuddering  violently. 

"I  can't  go  any  farther.  .  .  .  You — you've 
done  it  for  me,  Phil.  It  ...  was  the  second 
blow.  It  seemed  to  crash  right  through  ..." 

Barbara's  heart  was  beating  to  bursting.  "Austen, 
Austen,"  she  whispered  to  herself,  in  an  agony. 
"Tell  me!  Was  it  Phil?  You  can't  know  what 
you're  saying!" 

"No  one  must  know  it.  The  law  would  .  .  . 
no,  no !  What  good  would  it  do  now  ?  He's  a  bad 
egg,  but  I  ...  I  was  always  proud  of  the 
family  name.  Barbara !  Remember,  it  -wasn't  Phil! 
It  wasn't  Phil!" 

She  fell  on  her  knees,  her  hands  clasping  the  arms 
of  the  chair,  thrilling  to  the  truth  beneath  that  piti- 
ful denial.  Phil,  not  Daunt !  The  man  she  had  loved 
had  no  stain  of  blood  on  his  soul  I  She  sobbed 
aloud.  With  the  whir  of  the  machinery  there  mixed 
a  grating,  scratching  discord,  as  though  an  autom- 
aton had  attempted  to  laugh. 

"How  ridiculous  it  seems  to  die  like  this!  Only 
this  morning  I  was  so  near  ...  so  near  to 

411 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

what  I  wanted  most.  It  was  your  losing  the  locket 
that  checkmated  me.  Why  couldn't  I  have  found  it 
instead  of  Phil  ?  .  .  .  Did  I  tell  you  I  was  there 
that  day,  Barbara — behind  the  shikiri,  when  you 
followed  the  Japanese  girl  into  the  house?  I  could 
see  just  what  you  were  thinking  ...  I  would 
never  have  told  you  the  truth  .  .  .  never." 

With  a  faint  cry  Barbara  dragged  herself  back- 
ward. In  the  illusion,  everything  about  her  for  the 
instant  vanished.  The  yacht's  walls  had  rolled  away. 
She  was  on  a  gloomy  hillside,  and  a  stricken  man 
was  speaking — confessing. 

Again  the  ghastly  attempt  to  laugh. 

"A  contemptible  thing,  wasn't  it !  I  knew  that. 
I've  .  .  .  I've  felt  it.  ...  I  never  seemed 
contemptible  to  myself  before.  But  I  should  have 
had  you,  and  that  .  .  .  would  have  repaid.  It 
was  all  coming  my  .  .  .  way.  Then,  just  the 
dropping  of  a  locket,  and  .  .  .  Phil  .  .  . 
and  now,  it's  all  over !" 

Barbara  felt  herself  engulfed  in  a  wave  of  com- 
plex emotions.  She  was  torn  with  a  great  repug- 
nance, a  greater  joy,  and  a  sense  of  acute  pity  that 
overmastered  them  both.  Then  there  rolled  over 
all  the  recollection  that  w-hat  she  now  listened  to  was 
but  a  mechanical  echo.  The  hillside  faded,  the  walls 
of  the  yacht  came  back. 

"I  never  believed  in  much,  and  I'm  going  without 
whining.  Are  you  near,  Barbara  ?  Sometimes  there 

412 


THE  VOICE  IN  THE  DARK 

are  many  people  around  me  *  .  .  and  then  only 
you.  I  ...  I  think  I'm  beginning  to  wander !" 

She  was  weeping  now,  unrestrained. 

There  was  a  long  pause,  in  which  the  whir  of  the 
wheels  rasped  on.  Then — 

"Is  it  your  ,  .  .  arms  I  feel,  Barbara?  Or 
.  .  .  is  it  .  , 

That  was  all.  The  wheels  whirred  on  a  little 
longer,  a  click  and — silence.  Only  the  rush  of  the 
wind  outside  and  the  passionate  sobbing  of  the  girl 
who  knelt  in  the  dark  room,  her  face  buried  in  her 
hand,  her  heart  tossed  on  the  cross-tides  of  anguish 
and  of  joy. 

A  long  time  she  knelt  there.  She  was  recalled  by 
a  confusion  on  the  deck  above  her — shouts  and  a 
hastening  of  feet.  She  lifted  her  face.  The  dawn 
had  come — its  pale,  faint  radiance  sifted  through 
the  heavy  glass  ports  and  dimly  lit  the  room.  The 
shouts  and  running  multiplied. 

She  sprang  to  her  feet,  opened  the  door  and  hur- 
ried up  the  companion-way. 


413 


CHAPTER  LIII 

A   RACE   WITH   DAWN 

IN  that  furious  pace  toward  Aoyama,  Daunt  had 
been  consumed  by  one  thought :  that  upon  his 
single  effort  hung  the  saving  of  human  lives — 
the  covering  of  a  shame  to  his  own  nation — the  turn- 
ing away  of  a  foul  allegation  from  the  repute  of  a 
friendly  Empire.   He  knew  that  minutes  were  valu- 
able. 

On  the  long,  dimly-lighted  roadways  where  the 
flying  hoofs  beat  their  furious  tattoo,  few  carts  were 
astir,  and  the  trolleys  had  not  yet  appeared  on  the 
wider  thoroughfares.  The  rain  had  washed  the  air 
clean,  the  wind  was  dustless  and  sweet,  and  the 
stars  were  palely  bright.  Once  a  policeman  signaled 
and  the  driver  momentarily  slackened  speed — then 
on  as  before.  The  horses  were  white  with  foam 
when  they  reached  the  parade-ground.  Here  Daunt 
leaped  down  and  wrenched  both  lamps  from  the 
carriage.  "Go  home,"  he  said  to  the  betto,  and  run- 
ning through  a  clump  of  trees,  struck  across  the 
waste. 

The  Japanese  stared  after  him  mystified,  then 
414 


with  a  philosophic  objurgation,  turned  and  drove 
the  sweating  horses  home  at  a  walk. 

Daunt  ran  to  a  low  door  in  the  long  garage.  The 
key  was  on  a  ring  in  his  pocket.  He  went  in,  locking 
the  door  behind  him.  There  were  no  electric  lights 
— he  had  been  there  heretofore  only  by  day — and  the 
carriage  lamps  made  only  a  subdued  glimmer  that 
was  reflected  from  the  polished  metal  of  the  great 
winged  thing  resting  on  its  carrier.  He  threw  off 
his  evening  coat  and  set  feverishly  to  work.  After 
its  single  trial  the  new  fan-propeller  had  been  un- 
shipped for  a  slight  alteration,  and  the  flanges  had 
not  yet  been  reassembled.  There  were  delicate  ad- 
justments to  be  made,  wire  rigging  to  be  tautened, 
a  score  of  minute  tests  before  all  could  be  safe  and 
sure.  He  worked  swiftly  and  with  concentration, 
feeling  his  mind  answering  to  the  stress  with  an  ab- 
solute coolness. 

At  length  the  last  attachment  was  in  place,  the 
final  bolt  sent  home  and  one  of  the  lamps  lashed 
close  in  the  angle  of  the  wind  screen.  He  took  his 
place  and  the  engine  started  its  familiar  double 
rhythm:  pst-pst — pst-pst — pst-pst,  as  the  explosive 
drop  fell  faster  and  faster.  He  leaned  and  broke  the 
clutch  which  held  the  big  double  doors  of  the  build- 
ing. They  swung  open  and  he  threw  on  the  gear. 

And  suddenly,  as  the  propeller  began  to  spin,  in 
the  instant  the  Glider  started  in  its  rush  down  the 
guides,  Daunt  was  aware  that  some  one  had  darted 

4'S 


through  the  doors.  He  had  a  flashing  view  of  a 
white,  disheveled  face,  heard  a  cry  behind  him — 
then  the  prow  of  the  Glider  tilted  abruptly,  the  air 
whistled  past  the  screens,  the  great  flat  field  sank 
away,  and  he  was  throbbing  steeply  upward,  against 
the  sweep  of  the  wind. 

Daunt  threw  himself  forward — the  bubble  in  the 
spirit-level  clung  to  the  top  of  its  tube.  Rapidly  he 
warped  down  the  elevation-vanes  till  slowly,  slowly, 
the  telltale  bubble  crept  to  the  middle  of  the  level. 
What  was  the  matter?  The  engine  was  working 
well,  yet  there  was  a  sense  of  heaviness,  of  sluggish- 
ness that  was  unaccountable.  He  looked  to  either 
side,  before  him,  behind  him. 

His  fingers  tightened  on  the  clutches.  Just  for- 
ward of  the  whirling  propeller  he  made  out  the  fig- 
ure of  a  man,  lying  flat  along  the  ribs  of  the  Glider's 
body,  clutching  the  steel  guys  of  the  planes,  looking 
at  him. 

For  a  moment  he  stared  motionless.  It  was  this 
extra  weight  that  had  sent  the  Glider  reeling  prow- 
up- — had  made  it  unresponsive  to  control.  The  man 
who  clung  there  had  aimed  to  prevent  the  flight! 
Daunt  leaned  to  let  the  full  beam  of  the  flaring  lamp 
go  past  him.  A  quick  intuition  had  told  him  whose 
were  the  eyes  that  had  glittered  across  the  throb- 
bing fabric ;  but  the  face  he  saw  now  was  infuriate 
with  a  new  look  that  made  him  shiver.  It  was  in- 
carnate with  the  daredevil  of  terror.  Phil  had  been 

416 


A  RACE  .WITH  DAWN 

a  drunkard;  he  was  drunk  now  with  the  calculate 
madness  of  overmastering  fear.  As  he  gazed,  a 
flitting,  irrelevant  memory  crossed  Daunt's  mind, 
of  a  day  at  college,  years  before,  when  by  a  personal 
appeal,  he  had  saved  Phil  from  the  disgrace  of  ex- 
pulsion. And  now  it  was  Phil— Phil!— clinging 
there,  with  desperate,  hooked  fingers,  struggling  to 
consummate  a  crime  that  must  sink  him  for  ever ! 

Pst-pst — pst-pst — pst-pst;  on  the  Glider  drove. 
With  a  fierce  effort,  Daunt  crushed  down  the  sense 
pf  unreality  and  swiftly  weighed  his  position. 

The  other  was  directly  in  front  of  the  propeller, 
a  perilous  place.  Only  the  guy-wire  was  in  his  reach. 
Between  them  was  a  shuddering  space.  To  land  in 
the  darkness  to  rid  the  aeroplane  of  that  incubus, 
was  impossible.  He  must  go  on.  Could  he  win  with 
such  a  terrible  handicap?  He  set  his  teeth.  Tilting 
the  lateral  vanes,  he  soared  in  a  wide  serpentine, 
peering  into  the  deep,  resounding  dark  below. 

Tokyo  lay  a  vast  network  of  tiny  pin-pricks  of 
fire.  He  had  never  been  so  high  before,  had  been 
content  to  sweep  the  tree-tops.  To  the  left  a  bearded 
scimetar  of  light,  merged  by  blackness,  marked  the 
bay.  Daunt  swung  parallel  with  this.  Pst-pst — 
pst-pst — pst-pst.  The  wind  tore  in  gusts  through 
the  structure,  the  planes  vibrating,  the  guys  hum- 
ming like  the  strings  of  a  gigantic  harp.  His  cloth- 
ing dragged  at  his  body.  He  was  too  high;  he 
leaned  over  the  mass  of  levers  and  the  Glider  slid 

417 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

down  a  long,  steep  descent,  till  in  the  starlight  he 
could  see  the  blue-gray  blur  of  roofs,  the  massed 
shadows  of  little  parks  of  trees.  Now  he  was  pass- 
ing the  edge  of  the  city — now-  below  him  was  the 
gloom  of  the  rice-fields.  A  low  sobbing  sound  came 
in  the  wind ;  it  was  the  bubbling  chorus  of  the  frogs, 
and  across  it  he  heard  the  bark  of  a  peasant's  dog. 

To  the  right  a  dark  hill  loomed  without  warning, 
with  a  dim  congeries  of  red  tea-houses.  It  was  the 
famous  Ikegami,  the  shrine  of  the  Buddhist  saint 
Ichiren,  famed  for  its  plum-gardens.  It  fell  away 
behind,  and  now,  far  off,  a  score  of  miles  ahead, 
grew  up  on  the  horizon  a  i/iisty  blotch  of  radiance. 
Yokohama!  He  swerved,  heading  out  across  the 
lagoon,  straight  as  the  bee  flies  for  the  shimmering 
spot.  Pst-pst — pst-pst — faster  and  faster  spat  the 
tiny  explosions.  The  Glider  throbbed  and  sang  like 
a  thing  alive,  and  the  hum  of  the  propeller  shrilled 
into  a  scream. 

Tokyo  was  far  behind  now,  the  pale  glow  ahead 
rising  and  spreading.  To  the  right  he  could  see  the 
clumped  lights  of  the  villages  along  the  railroad, 
Kamata — Kawasaki — Tsurumi.  He  dropped  still 
lower,  out  of  the  lash  of  the  wind. 

Suddenly  a  flying  missile  struck  the  forward 
plane,  which  resounded  like  a  great  drum.  A  drop 
of  something  red  fell  on  his  bare  hand  and  a  feath- 
ered body  fell  like  a  stone  between  his  feet.  A 
dark  carpet,  dotted  with  foam,  seemed  to  spring  up 

418 


A  RACE  WITH  DAWN 

out  of  the  gulf.  Daunt  threw  himself  at  the  levers 
and  rammed  them  back.  The  Glider  had  almost 
touched  the  sea — for  a  heartbreaking  instant  he 
thought  it  could  never  rise.  He  heard  the  curl  of  the 
waves,  and  a  cry  from  behind  him.  Then,  slowly, 
slowly,  breasting  the  blast,  it  came  staggering  up  the 
hill  of  air  to  safety. 

The  sky  was  perceptibly  lightening  now.  Daunt 
realized  it  with  a  tightening  of  all  his  muscles.  It 
was  the  first  tentative  withdrawal  of  the  forces  of 
the  dark.  Should  he  be  in  time?  With  his  free  hand 
he  loosened  the  coil  of  the  grapnel.  Suddenly  the 
chances  seemed  all  against  success.  A  feeling  of 
hopelessness  caught  him.  He  thought  of  the  two 
men  he  had  left  behind,  waiting — waiting.  What 
message  would  come  to  them  that  morning? 

The  engine  was  doing  its  best,  every  fiber  of  tested 
steel  and  canvas  ringing  and  throbbing.  But  the 
creeping  pallor  of  the  night  grew  apace.  Kanagawa : 
— the  Glider  swooped  above  it,  left  it  behind.  The 
misty  glow  was  all  around  now,  lights  pricked  up 
through  the  shadow.  Yokohama  was  under  his  feet, 
and  ahead — the  darker  mass  toward  which  he  was 
hurtling — was  the  Bluff. 

Slowly,  with  painful  anxiety,  he  swung  the  huge 
float  in  to  skirt  the  cliff's  seaward  edge.  There  was 
the  naval  hospital  with  its  flag-staff.  There  be- 
yond, was  the  familiar  break  in  the  rampart  of 
foliage — and  there,  flapping  in  the  wind,  was  the 

419 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

awning  on  the  flat  roof  of  the  Roost.  In  the  dawn- 
ing twilight,  it  seemed  a  monstrous,  leprous  lichen, 
shuddering  at  the  unholy  thing  it  hid.  Daunt  threw 
out  the  grapnel. 

He  curved  sharply  in,  aslant  to  the  wind,  flung 
down  his  prow  and  swooped  upon  it.  There  was  a 
tearing,  splintering  complaint  pf  canvas  and  bam- 
boo; the  Glider  seemed  to  stop,  to  tremble,  then 
leaped  on.  Turning  his  head,  Daunt  saw  the  awning 
disappear  like  a  collapsed  kite.  He  caught  a  glimpse, 
on  the  steep,  ascending  roadway  of  a  handful  of 
naked  men  running  staggeringly,  one  straggler  far 
behind.  The  thought  flashed  through  his  mind  that 
these  were  the  cadets  from  the  Naval  College.  But 
they  would  be  too  late!  The  sun  was  coming  too 
swiftly.  The  sky  was  a  tide  of  amethyst — the  dawn 
was  very  near !  He  came  about  in  a  wide  loop  that 
took  him  out  over  the  bay,  making  the  turn  with  the 
wind.  For  a  fraction  of  a  second  he  looked  down — 
on  the  Squadron  of  battle-ships,  a  geometrical 
cluster  of  black  blots  from  which  straight  wisps  of 
dark  smoke  spun  like  raveled  yarn  into  the  formless 
obscurity.  A  shrill,  mad  laugh  came  from  behind 
him. 

Daunt  was  essaying  a  gigantic  figure-of-light 
whose  waist  was  the  flat  bungalow  roof.  It  was  a 
difficult  evolution  in  still  sunlight  and  over  a  level 
ground.  He  had  now  the  semi-darkness,  and  the 
sucking  down-drafts  pf  the  wind  that  made  his 

420 


A  RACE  WITH  DAWN 

flight,  with  its  driving  falls  and  recoveries,  seem  the 
careless  fury  of  a  suicide.  Yet  never  once  did  his 
hand  waver,  never  did  that  strange,  tense  coolness 
desert  him. 

As  he  swept  back,  like  a  stone  in  the  sling  of  the 
wind,  he  saw  the  thing  he  had  come  to  destroy.  It 
had  the  appearance  of  a  large  camera,  set  on  a 
spidery  tripod  near  the  edge  of  the  flat  roof,  its  lens 
pointing  out  over  the  anchorage.  Landing  was  out 
of  the  question ;  to  slacken  speed  meant  to  fall.  He 
must  strike  the  machine  with  the  body  of  the  Glider 
or  with  the  grapnel.  To  strike  the  roof  instead 
meant  to  be  hurled  headlong,  mangled  or  dead,  his 
errand  unaccomplished,  down  somewhere  in  that 
medley  of  roofs  and  foliage.  The  chances  that  he 
could  do  this  seemed  suddenly  to  fade  to  the  vanish- 
ing point.  A  wave  of  profound  hopelessness  chilled 
his  heart. 

With  Phil's  mad,  derisive  laughter  ringing  in  his 
ears,  he  dropped  the  Glider's  stem  and  drove  it 
obliquely  across.  The  grapnel  bounded  and  clanged 
along  the  tiling,  missing  the  tripod  by  three  feet. 
On,  in  an  upward  staggering  lunge,  then  round 
once  more,  wearing  into  the  wind. 

There  was  no  peal  of  laughter  now  from  the  man 
clinging  to  the  steel  rib.  With  the  clarity  of  the 
lunatic  Phil  saw  how  close  the  swoop  had  been. 
The  scourge  of  the  wind  and  the  rapid  flight 
through  the  rarefied  air  had  exalted  him  to  a  cun- 

421 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

ning  frenzy.  He  had  no  terror  of  the  moment — all 
his  fear  centered  in  the  to-morrow.  To  his  de- 
ranged imagination  the  black  square  on  the  tripod 
represented  his  safety.  He  had  forgotten  why. 
But  Bersonin  had  made  him  see  it  clearly.  It  must 
not  be  touched!  Daunt  was  the  devil — he  was 
trying  to  send  him  to  the  copper-mines,  to  work 
underground,  with  chains  on  his  feet,  as  long  as 
he  lived! 

The  Glider  heeled  suddenly  and  slid  steeply  down- 
ward. Daunt  gripped  the  levers  and  with  all  his 
strength  warped  up  the  forward  plane.  He  felt  a 
pang  of  sharpened  agony.  He,  too,  would  fail! 
The  crash  was  almost  upon  him.  But  the  Glider 
hung  a  moment  and  righted.  Farther  and  farther 
he  twisted  the  laterals,  till  she  swam  up,  oscillating. 
A  jerk  ran  through  her  after  framework;  he 
turned  his  head.  Clinging  with  foot  and  hand,  his 
hair  streaming  back  from  his  forehead,  his  lips 
wide,  Phil  was  drawing  himself,  inch  by  inch,  along 
the  sagging  guy-wire  toward  him. 

For  a  rigid  second  Daunt  could  not  move  a  mus- 
cle. Then,  caught  by  the  upper  wind,  the  perilous 
tilting  of  the  planes  awoke  him.  He  swung  head 
on,  wavered,  and  swooped  a  last  time  for  the  roof. 

Pst-pst — pst-pst —  Crash!  The  curved  irons  of 
the  grapnel  tore  away  the  coping — slid,  screaming. 
A  jolt  all  but  threw  him  from  his  seat.  There  were 
running  feet  somewhere  far  below  him — a  batter- 

422 


A  RACE  WITH  DAWN 

ing  and  shattering  of  glass  in  the  piazza.  He  felt  a 
sudden  clearance  and  the  big  aeroplane  plunged  side- 
wise  out  over  the  bay,  with  a  black,  unwieldy 
weight,  that  spun  swiftly,  hanging  on  its  grapnel. 

A  shout  tore  its  way  from  his  lips.  Heedless  of 
direction,  he  wrenched  with  his  fingers  to  unship 
the  grapnel  chain.  At  the  same  instant  the  first  sun- 
beam slid  across  the  waves  and  turned  the  misty 
gloom  to  the  golden-blue  glory  of  morning. 

And  with  it,  as  though  the  voice  of  the  day  itself, 
there  went  out  over  the  water,  above  the  sweep  of 
the  wind,  a  single  piercing-sweet  note  of  music,  like 
the  cry  of  a  great,  splendid  bird  calling  to  the  sun- 
rise. Fishermen  in  tossing  sampan,  and  sailors  on 
heaving  junk  heard  it,  and  whispered  that  it  was  the 
cry  of  the  kaminari,  the  thunder-animal,  or  of  the 
kappa  that  lures  the  swimmer  to  his  death.  An  icy 
blast  seemed  to  shoot  past  the  Glider  into  the  zenith. 
Staring,  Daunt  realized  that  one  of  the  great  planes, 
the  propeller,  the  after- frame  work,  with  the  man 
who  had  clung  to  it,  were  utterly  gone — that  the 
Glider,  like  a  dead  bird  caught  by  the  thudding 
twinge  of  a  bullet,  was  lunging  by  its  own  mo- 
mentum— to  its  fall !  Had  Phil  fallen,  or  was  it— 

Suddenly  he  felt  himself  flung  backward,  then 
forward  on  his  face.  The  spreading  vanes,  crum- 
pled edgewise,  like  squares  of  cardboard,  were  slid- 
ing down.  He  saw  the  shipping  of  the  bay  spread 
beneath  him — the  twin  lighthouses,  one  red,  one 

423 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

white,  on  the  ends  of  the  breakwater — the  black 
Dreadnaughts — a  steamer  with  bright  red  funnels 
— a  fleet  of  fishing  sampan  putting  out.  All  were 
swelling  larger  and  larger.  The  wind,  blowing  up- 
ward around  him,  stole  his  breath,  and  he  felt  the 
blood  beating  in  his  temples.  He  heard  ships'  bells 
striking,  and  across  the  sound  a  temple-bell  boomed 
clearly.  A  mist  was  coining  before  his  eyes.  Just 
below  him  was  a  white  yacht ;  it  seemed  to  be  rush- 
ing up  to  meet  him  like  a  swan. 

Thoughts  darted  through  his  brain  like  live  ar- 
rows. The  battle-ships  were  saved!  No  shameful 
suspicion  should  touch  Japan's  name  in  the  high- 
ways of  the  world!  What  matter  that  he  lost  the 
game?  What  did  one — any  one — count  against 
so  much  ? 

He  thought  of  Barbara.  He  would  never  know- 
now  what  she  had  been  about  to  tell  him  that  night 
at  the  Nikko  shrine !  He  would  never  see  her  again ! 
But  she  would  know  .  .  .  she  would  know ! 

The  sound  of  the  sea — a  great  roaring  in  his  ears. 


424 


CHAPTER  LIV 

INTO   THE   SUNLIGHT 

ON  the  deck  of  the  white  yacht  the  captain 
rose  to  his  feet.  The  battle  fought  on  that 
huddle  of  blankets  for  the  life  of  the  man  so 
hardly  snatched  from  the  sea  had  been  a  close  one, 
but  it  had  been  won.  His  smile  of  satisfaction  over- 
ran the  group  of  observant  faces  at  one  side,  the 
bishop  watching  with  strained  anxiety,  and  the  girl, 
who  pillowed  in  her  arms  that  unconscious  head 
with  its  drenched,  brown  curls. 

"Don't  you  be  afraid,  Miss  Fairfax,"  he  said,  with 
bluff  heartiness.  "He'll  be  all  right  now !" 

The  assurance  came  to  Barbara's  heart  with  an 
infinite  relief  that  he  could  not  guess.  At  the  first 
sight  of  the  huge  bird-like  thing  slipping  down  the 
sky  she  had  known  the  man  clinging  to  its  frame- 
work was  Daunt.  The  stricken  moments  while  the 
wreck  of  the  great  vanes  lay  outspread  on  the  water 
—the  launch  of  the  yacht's  boat,  and  the  lifting  of 
the  limp  form  over  its  gunwale — the  cruelly  kind 
ministrations  that  had  brought  breath  back  to  the 
inert  body — these  had  seemed  to  her  to  consume 
dragging  hours  of  agony.  A  thunder  of  guns 

425 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

roared  across  the  water,  but  she  scarcely  heard. 
Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  face  to  which  the  tide 
of  life  was  returning. 

Again  the  roar,  and  now  the  sound  pierced  the 
saturating  darkness.  It  called  the  numbed  senses 
back  to  the  sphere  of  feeling — to  a  consciousness  of 
an  immense  weariness  and  a  gentle  motion.  It 
seemed  to  Daunt  as  though  his  head  rested  on  a 
pillow  which  rose  and  fell  to  an  irregular  rhythm. 
He  stirred.  His  eyes  opened. 

Memory  dawned  across  them.  Hani's  story — 
the  windy  flight  on  the  Glider — the  sick  sense  of 
failure — the  plunge  down,  and  down,  and  the  water 
leaping  toward  him!  Had  he  failed?  A  third 
time  the  detonation  rang  out.  He  started,  made  an 
effort  to  rise.  His  gaze  swept  the  sea.  There, 
flags  flying,  bands  playing,  a  line  of  Dreadnaughts 
was  steaming  down  the  harbor. 

"The  battle-ships!"  he  said,  and  there  was  tri- 
umph in  his  eyes. 

He  turned  his  head  and  saw  the  bishop,  the  silent 
crew,  the  relieved  countenance  of  the  captain.  Real- 
ization came  to  him.  Soft  arms  were  about  him; 
the  pillowr  that  rose  and  fell  was  a  woman's  heaving 
breast!  His  gaze  lifted,  and  Barbara's  eyes  flowed 
into  his.  He  put  out  a  hand  weakly  and  whispered 
her  name. 

She  did  not  speak,  but  in  that  look  a  glory  en- 
folded him.  It  was  not  womanly  pity  in  her  face — 

426 


INTO  THE  SUNLIGHT 

it  was  far,  far  more,  something  wordless,  but  elo- 
quent, veiled,  yet  passionately  tender.  He  knew 
suddenly  that  after  the  long  night  had  come  the 
morning,  after  the  pain  and  the  misunderstanding 
all  would  be  well. 

For  an  instant  he  closed  his  eyes,  smiling.  The 
darkness  was  gone  for  ever.  His  head  was  on  her 
heart,  and  it  was  her  dear  arms  that  were  lifting 
him  up,  into  the  sunlight,  the  sunlight,  the  sunlight ! 


427 


CHAPTER  LV 

KNOW   ALL   MEN   BY  THESE   PRESENTS 

LONG,  windless,  golden  days  of  spring  and 
falling  cherry-petals,  with  cloud-piles  like 
fleecy  pillars,  with  fringing  palm-plumes 
and  bamboo  foliage  turning  from  yellow  cadmium  to 
tawny  green. 

Drowsy,  lotos-eating  days  of  summer  among  pur- 
ple hills  wound  in  a  luminous  elfin  haze.  Days  of 
typhoon  and  straight-falling  rain.  Sunsets  of 
smouldering  crimson  and  nights  under  a  blue-black 
vault  palpitating  with  star-swarms  or  a  waste  of  tur- 
quoise, liquid  with  tropic  moonlight. 

Languorous  days  of  autumn  by  the  Inland  Sea, 
when  the  dying  summer's  breath  lingers  like  the  per- 
fume of  incense,  and  the  mirroring  lilac  water  deep- 
ens to  bishop's-purple. 

So  the  mild  Japanese  winter  comes — slowly,  un- 
der a  high,  keen  sky,  bringing  at  last  its  scourging 
of  dust  and  wind,  its  chill,  opaque  nights  with  their 
spectral  fog  veiling  the  trembling  flames  of  the  con- 
stellations, and  its  few,  rare  days  when  the  evergreen 
earth  is  covered  with  a  blanket  of  snow. 

There  came  one  such  day  when  Daunt  stood  with 
428 


KNOW  ALL  MEN  BY  THESE  PRESENTS 

Barbara  by  the  huge  stone  torn  at  the  gateway  of 
the  Mon-to  temple  on  the  Hill-of-the-Spirit.  The  air 
was  softly  radiant  but  not  cold,  the  translucent 
heavens  tinted  with  a  fairy  mauve,  which  on  the 
horizon  merged  into  dying  hyacinth.  The  camelia 
hedges  stood  like  blanched  rows  of  crystalled  beryl, 
the  stalwart  tncchi  trees  were  cased  in  argent  armor, 
and  the  curving  porch  of  the  temple,  the  roof  of  the 
near-by  nunnery,  the  forest  of  bronze  lanterns  and 
the  square  stone  tablets  in  the  graveyard  were 
capped  with  soft  rounded  mounds  of  snow.  It  lay 
thickly  over  the  paved  space  save  where  a  wide  way 
had  been  cleared  to  the  temple  steps,  for  the  day  was 
a  sai jits',  a  holy  day,  when  the  people  gather  to 
worship. 

Across  the  lane  they  could  see  the  Chapel  lifting 
its  white  cross  into  the  clear  blue.  From  its  chancel 
arch  was  hung  a  crucifix  of  gold-lacquer,  where  the 
declining  sun,  shining  through  the  stained  glass  of 
the  rose-window,  each  evening  touched  it  to  shim- 
mering color.  The  altar  to-day  was  fragrant  with 
the  first  plum-blossoms;  two  hours  ago  the  bishop, 
standing  before  it,  had  read  the  sacred  office  which 
had  made  them  man  and  wife.  The  carriage  which 
was  to  take  them  to  Shimbashi  Station  waited  now 
at  the  end  of  the  lane  while  Barbara  brought  a 
branch  of  the  early  blooms  to  lay  on  a  Buddhist 
grave  in  a  tenantless  garden. 

In  one  of  the  farther  groups  before  the  temple 
429 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

steps  was  a  miniature  rick-ska  drawn  by  a  servant. 
It  held  a  child  who  had  not  walked  since  a  night 
when,  with  clenched  hands  and  brave  little  heart,  he 
had  run  into  the  path  of  a  speeding  motor-car.  On 
the  breast  of  his  wadded  kimono  was  a  knot  of  rib- 
bon at  which  the  other  children  gazed  in  awe  and 
wonder.  It  had  been  pinned  one  night  to  a  small 
hospital  shirt  when  the  wandering  eyes  were  hot 
with  fever  and  the  baby  face  pinched  and  white,  by 
a  lady  whom  Ishikichi  had  thought  must  be  the  Sun 
Goddess  at  very  least,  and  before  whom  the  attend- 
ants of  that  room  of  pain  had  bowed  to  the  very 
mats.  He  knew  that  in  some  dim  way,  without  quite 
knowing  how,  he  had  helped  that  great,  mysterious 
something  that  meant  the  Government  of  Japan,  and 
that  he  should  be  very  proud  of  it.  But  Ishikichi  was 
far  prouder  of  the  fine  foreign  front  that  had  dis- 
placed the  poor  little  shop  in  the  Street-of-prayer-to- 
the-Gods. 

Nearer  the  gateway,  on  the  edge  of  the  gathering, 
stood  an  old  man,  his  face  seamed  and  lined,  but 
with  eye  clear  and  young  and  a  smile  on  his  face. 
The  crest  on  his  sleeve  was  the  inon  of  an  ancient 
and  honored  samurai  family.  He  leaned  on  the  arm 
of  his  adopted  son — a  Commander  of  the  Imperial 
Navy  whose  name  had  once  been  Ishida  Hetaro. 
They  stood  apart,  regarding  not  the  Temple,  but  the 
low  building  across  the  hedge,  behind  whose  bam- 
boo lattice  dim  forms  passed  and  repassed. 

430 


KNOW  ALL  MEN  BY  THESE  PRESENTS 

"Look,"  said  Barbara  suddenly,  and  touched 
Daunt's  arm.  A  woman's  figure  had  paused  at  the 
lattice  of  the  nunnery.  She  was  dressed  in  slate-color 
and  her  delicate  features  and  close-shaven  head  gave 
her  a  singularly  unearthly  appearance,  like  an  ether- 
eal and  angelic  boy.  The  little  two-wheeled  carriage 
drew  up  at  the  lattice  and  a  slender  hand  reached  out 
and  patted  the  round  cropped  head  of  its  occupant. 
As  the  vehicle  was  drawn  away,  the  nun  looked  up 
and  across  the  yard — toward  the  old  samurai  and 
the  young  naval  officer.  The  wraith  of  a  flush  crept 
into  her  cheek.  She  smiled,  and  they  smiled  in  re- 
turn, the  placid  Japanese  smile  which  is  the  rainbow 
of  forbidden  tears.  A  second  they  stood  thus,  then 
the  slate-colored  figure  drew  back  and  was  gone,  and 
the  old  man,  supported  by  the  younger  arm,  passed 
slowly  out  of  the  yard. 

Barbara's  eyes  were  still  on  the  lattice  as  Daunt 
spoke.  "What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"The  face  of  the  nun  there,"  she  said,  with  vague 
wistfulness.  "It  reminds  me  of  some  one  I  have 
known.  Wrho  can  it  be,  I  wonder !" 

They  crossed  the  yard,  and  entered  the  deserted 
garden.  The  great  ruin  at  its  side  was  covered  with 
friendly  shrubs  and  the  all-transfiguring  snow.  The 
line  of  stepping-stones  had  been  swept  clean  and  be- 
side the  frost-fretted  lake  an  irregular  segment  of 
rock,  closely  carved  with  ideographs,  had  been 
planted  upright.  It  stood  in  mystic  peace,  looking 

431 


between  the  snow-buried,  birdless  trees  toward 
the  horizon  where  Fuji-San  towered  into  the  in- 
finite calm — a  magical  mountain  woven  of  a  world 
of  gems,  on  which  the  sun's  heart  beat  in  a  tumult. 
At  the  base  of  the  stone  slab  were  Buddhist  vases 
filled  with  green  leaves  in  fresh  water,  and  in  one  of 
these  Barbara  placed  the  branch  of  plum-blossoms. 
Its  pink  petals  lay  against  the  brown  rock  like  the 
kiss  of  spring  on  a  wintry  heart. 

As  she  arranged  the  sprays,  Daunt  stood  looking 
down  on  her  bent  head,  where,  under  her  fur  hat, 
the  sun  was  etching  gold-hued  lines  on  the  soft  cop- 
per of  her  hair.  He  had  taken  a  yellowed  envelope 
from  his  pocket. 

"Do  you  remember,  dearest,"  he  said,  "that  I  once 
told  you  of  an  old  envelope  in  the  Chancery  safe 
bearing  the  name  of  Aloysius  Thorn  ?" 

"Yes,"  she  answered  wonderingly. 

"It  was  opened,  after  his  death,  while  you  were 
away.  It  contained  his  will.  I  turned  it  into  Japan- 
ese, as  best  I  could,  for  the  temple  priests.  It  is 
carved  there  on  the  stone.  The  Ambassador  gave  the 
original  to  the  bishop,  and  he  handed  it  to  me  to-day 
for  you.  He  thought  you  would  like  to  keep  it."  He 
drew  the  paper  from  the  discolored  envelope  and 
handed  it  to  her. 

She  sat  dov:n  on  a  boulder  and  unfolding  the 
faded  sheets,  began  to  read  aloud,  in  a  voice  that  be- 
came more  and  more  unsteady : 

432 


KNOW  ALL  MEN  BY  THESE  PRESENTS 

"KNOW  ALL  MEN  BY  THESE  PRESENTS,  that  I, 
Aloysius  Thorn,  of  the  city  of  Tokyo,  in  Tokyo-fu, 
Empire  of  Japan,  being  in  health  and  of  sound  and 
disposing  mind  and  memory,  do  make  and  publish 
this  my  last  will  and  testament,  devising,  bequeath- 
ing and  disposing  in  the  manner  following,  to  wit: 

"Item:  I  give,  devise  and  bequeath  to  Japanese 
children,  inclusively,  for  and  through  the  term  of 
their  childhood,  the  woods  of  cryptomeria,  with 
their  green  silences,  and  the  hillsides  with  the  chirp- 
ings of  bell-crickets  in  the  sa-sa  grass  and  the  fairy 
quiverings  of  golden  butterflies.  I  give  them  the 
husky  crow  and  the  darting  swallow  under  the 
eaves.  And  I  devise  to  them  all  lotos-pools  on  which 
to  sail  their  straw  sampan,  the  golden  carp  and  the 
lilac-flashing  dragon-fly  in  and  above  them,  and  the 
dodan  thickets  where  the  semi  chime  their  silver 
cymbals.  I  also  give  to  them  all  temple  yards, 
wheresoever  situate,  and  all  moats,  and  the  green 
banks  thereunto  appertaining,  for  their  playgrounds, 
providing,  however,  that  they  break  no  tree  or 
shrub,  remembering  that  trees,  like  children,  have 
souls.  And  I  devise  to  them  the  golden  fire  of  the 
morning  and  all  long,  white  clouds,  to  have  and  to 
hold  the  same,  without  let  or  hindrance.  These  the 
above  I  bequeath  to  them,  possessing  no  little  child 
of  my  own  with  whom  to  share  my  interest  in  the 
world. 

"To  boys  especially  I  give  and  bequeath  all  holi- 

433 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  SLENDER  SWORDS 

days  to  be  glad  in,  and  the  blue  sky  for  their  paper 
kites.  To  girls  I  give  and  bestow  the  rainbow 
kimono,  the  flower  in  the  hair  and  the  battledore. 
And  I  bequeath  them  all  kinds  of  dolls,  reminding 
them  that  these,  if  loved  enough,  may  some  time 
come  alive. 

"Item :  To  young  men,  jointly,  I  devise  and  be- 
queath the  rough  sports  of  kenjuts'  and  of  jit-jits', 
the  shinai-play  and  all  manly  games.  I  give  them 
the  knowledge  of  all  brave  legends  of  the  samurai, 
and  especially  do  I  leave  them  the  care  and  respect 
for  the  aged.  I  give  them  all  far  places  to  travel  in 
and  all  manner  of  strange  and  delectable  adventures 
therein.  And  I  apportion  to  them  the  high  noon, 
with  its  appurtenances,  to  wit :  the  heat  and  burden 
of  the  day,  its  commotions,  its  absorbing  occupa- 
tions and  its  fiercer  rivalries.  I  give  to  them,  more- 
over, the  cherry-blossom,  the  flower  of  bushido, 
which,  falling  in  the  April  of  its  bloom,  may  ever  be 
for  them  the  symbol  of  a  life  smilingly  yielded  in 
its  prime. 

"To  young  women,  I  give  and  devise  the  glow  of 
the  afternoon,  the  soft  blue  witchery  of  pine  shad- 
ows, the  delicate  traceries  of  the  bamboo  and  the 
thin,  low  laughter  of  waterfalls.  I  devise  to  them  all 
manner  of  perfumes,  and  tender  spring  blossoms 
(save  in  the  one  exception  provided  hereinbefore), 
such  as  the  plum-blossom  and  the  wistaria,  with  the 
red  maple-leaves  and  the  gorgeous  glories  of  the 

434 


KNOW  ALL  MEN  BY  THESE  PRESENTS 

chrysanthemum.  And  I  give  to  them  all  games  of 
flower-cards,  and  all  divertisements  of  music,  as  the 
biwa,  the  flute  and  the  samiscn,  and  of  dances  what- 
soever they  may  choose. 

"Item:  To  the  aged  I  bequeath  snowy  hair,  the 
long  memories  of  the  past  and  the  golden  thai  on  the 
Buddha- Shelf.  I  give  them  the  echo  of  tiny  bare  feet 
on  the  tatame,  and  the  grave  bowing  of  small  shaven 
heads.  I  devise  to  them  the  evening's  blaze  of  crim- 
son glory  and  the  amber  clouds  above  the  sunset,  the 
pale  and  on  and  the  indigo  shadows,  the  dusk  dance 
of  the  yellow  lanterns,  the  gathering  of  friends  at 
the  moon-viewing  place  and  the  liquid  psalmody  of 
the  nightingale.  I  give  to  them  also  the  winter,  the 
benediction  of  snow-bent  boughs  and  the  waterways 
gliding  with  their  silver  smiles.  I  give  to  them  suf- 
ficient space  to  lie  down  within  a  temple  ground  that 
echoes  the  play  of  little  children.  And  finally  I  be- 
queath to  them  the  love  and  blessing  of  succeeding 
generations  for  the  blossoming  of  a  hundred  lives. 

"In  testimony  whereof,  I,  the  said  Aloysius 
Thorn  — " 

Barbara's  voice  broke  off.  Her  eyes  were  wet  as 
she  folded  the  paper.  Daunt  drew  her  to  her  feet, 
and  with  his  arm  about  her,  they  stood  looking  out 
across  the  white  city  lying  in  all  its  ghostly  glamour 
— the  many-gabled  watch-towers  above  the  castle 
walls,  the  glistening  plateau  of  Aoyama  with  its  dull 

435 


red  barracks,  the  rolling  sea  of  wan  roofs,  and  far 
beyond,  the  creeping  olive  of  the  bay.  In  the  clear 
distance  they  could  see  the  lift  of  Kudan  Hill,  and 
the  gray  pile  of  the  Russian  Cathedral.  Standing  in 
its  candle-lighted  nave,  they  had  listened  to  Japanese 
choir-boys  hymning  the  Birth  in  Bethlehem.  The 
next  Christmas  they  two  would  be  together — but  in 
another  land ! 

"Minister  to  Persia !"  she  said.  "I  am  glad  of 
your  appointment,  for  it  means  so  much  to  your 
career.  And  yet — and  yet — " 

In  the  temple  yard  behind  them  an  acolyte,  wading 
knee-deep  in  the  snow,  swung  the  cedar  beam  of  the 
bell-tower  and  the  deep-voiced  boom  rolled  out 
across  the  cradling  hush.  Again  and  yet  again  it 
struck,  the  waves  of  sound  throbbing  into  volume 
through  the  still  air.  It  came  to  them  like  a  firm  and 
beautiful  voice,  the  articulate  echo  of  the  Soul  of 
Japan. 

The  whinny  of  restive  horses  stole  over  the 
hedges.  Silently  Daunt  held  out  his  hand  to  her. 
She  bent  and  picked  a  single  plum-blossom  from  the 
branch  and  slipped  it  into  the  yellow  envelope.  For 
a  last  time  she  looked  out  across  the  distance. 

"The  beautiful  country!"  she  said. 

THE   END 


000137034 


